Qymvcish 


The  Immortal  Gymnasts 

MARIE       CHER 


THE  IMMORTAL 
GYMNASTS 


BY 

MARIE  CHERc^^i 


NEW     YORK 
GEORGE  H.  DORAN  COMPANY 


Copyright,  1915, 
By  George  H.  Doran  Company 


THE  IMMORTAL  GYMNASTS 


343101 


CHAPTER  ONE 

POOR  old  Papa  Comedy,  once  Carnival  King  of 
all  Italy,  lay  dying  obscurely  in  the  narrow  Paris 
lodging  whither  he  had  been  brought  by  his 
faithful  secretary,  Messer  Goldoni,  seeking  in  vain  a 
life-giving  air  across  the  frozen  Alps. 

Three  of  those  Essential  Spirits  in  whom  he  had  in- 
carnated the  happiest  strokes  of  his  genius — Pantaloon, 
Harlequin,  and  Columbine — stole  away  weeping,  when 
all  was  over,  from  the  shrouded  bed  in  the  poor  attic 
room,  and  sought  a  refuge  by  recrossing  the  border 
into  Italy.  Pantaloon,  venerable  but  elastic,  sup- 
ported the  youthful  Columbine,  while  Harlequin,  tall 
and  slender,  supple  and  gay,  charged  himself  with  the 
conduct  of  their  meagre  baggage-train. 

Ages  ago,  these  waifs  from  Cloudland,  stragglers 
from  the  World  of  the  Fourth  Dimension,  restless 
pioneers  of  the  subconscious,  had  entered,  of  their  own 
free  will,  the  infinitely  more  restricted  life  sustained  by 
this  poor  old  planet  of  ours.  Earth-bound  for  the 
moment,  confused  and  charmed  at  once  by  the  novelty 
of  their  surroundings,  they  had  fallen  into  the  hands 
of  Papa  Comedy,  then  young  and  strong,  footing  it 
lustily  through  all  the  land  of  Italy.  They  served  him 
well,  according  to  the  age  and  sex  they  had  half- 
consciously  adopted  in  the  beginning  and  thereafter 
kept  unchanged.     Thus  Pantaloon  is  always  the  grey- 

7 


8  THE  IMMORTAL  GYMNASTS 

beard,  Harlequin  the  man  of  thirty,  and  Columbine 
the  fresh,  fair,  youthful  woman. 

Behind  them  lay  a  century  of  adventures  in  the 
Italian  States,  which  Pantaloon  has  a  mind  to  edit 
some  day,  when  the  evenings  are  long  and  when  one  is 
old  and  not  a  very  good  sleeper.  Here  Columbine  in- 
terrupts with  a  laugh  and  says,  "  But  what  of  those 
long  afternoon  naps  ?  "  Women  are  ever  inconsequent. 
At  least  Pantaloon  has  committed  to  writing  the  Ad- 
venture of  the  Poet  in  the  House  on  the  Corso,  for  no 
one  now  alive,  save  these  three,  has  heard  the  great 
Goethe  speak.  He  was  a  young  man  then,  with  a  cer- 
tain fame,  handsome  and  gay,  discovering  his  Italy. 
Do  you  know  that  land? 

But,  the  years  gathering  one  upon  another,  our 
three  Essential  Spirits,  having  lost  the  power  to  change 
back  to  their  Fourth  Dimension,  moving  from  place 
to  place  over  half  Europe,  first  in  one  disguising  occu- 
pation, then  in  another,  felt  the  weight  of  earth-bound 
life  encroaching,  little  by  little,  on  their  cloud-heritage 
— surely  Pantaloon  was  becoming  older,  more  worn, 
more  bent;  Harlequin  had  grey  streaks  in  his  brown 
hair,  networks  of  tiny,  humorous  lines  around  his  deep 
kind  eyes ;  and  Columbine,  no  longer  the  bud  of  a  young 
maid,  had  mellowed,  ripened,  and  expanded  into  the 
fair  flower  of,  say,  twenty-nine.  All  three  were  cer- 
tainly "  coming  on,"  and  they  needed  a  change  of 
environment.  Language  presenting  no  bar  to  them, 
they  pitched  upon  England,  that  moist  isle,  and  Lon- 
don, that  cloudy  leviathan,  as  the  home  for  their  de- 
clension, if  decline  they  must.  Having  learned  what 
sticklers  the  English  are  in  matters  of  respectability, 


THE  IMMORTAL  GYMNASTS 


they  decided  upon  brand-new  names  and  relationships. 
High  Comedy  might  "  go  "  in  Italy,  as  it  once  did  at 
the  Court  of  the  Grand-Duke  of  Tuscany,  but  never 
in  England.  So  Pantaloon  becomes  Mister  Panton, 
or  Panta,  as  he  is  called  in  the  intimacy  of  his  own 
home,  a  widower,  with  one  charming  daughter,  Miss 
Bina  Panta,  and  a — umph — second  cousin,  a  tall,  acro- 
batic-looking fellow,  a  Mister — Quin.  O  agile,  brilliant, 
merry  Harlequin,  who  could  trace  you  here? 

Then,  still  on  the  trail  of  respectability,  they  must 
needs  have  some  visible  means  of  support.  Pantaloon 
decides  to  feign  to  be  a  commissionaire  in  delicate 
health,  one  seldom  able — "  Poor  man,  he  has  such  a 
cough ! " — to  run  the  errands  of  the  neighbourhood. 
Harlequin,  seduced  by  the  roving,  picturesque  life  of 
the  Sandwichman,  hastily  adopts  that  calling  which  is 
susceptible  of  being  followed,  more  or  less  successfully, 
by  either  the  languid  or  the  athletic.  Bina,  for  her 
part,  practical  little  housewife,  sets  up  a  milk-and-egg- 
butter-and-cream  shop  in  a  small  dwelling  that  serves  as 
roof-tree  for  them  all. 

It  lurks  modestly  in  that  short,  back  street  in  the 
South-West,  where  all  the  houses  are  one  storey  high, 
with  a  scrap  of  an  attic  that  does  not  show  from  the 
outside,  prudishly  concealing  itself  and  its  tiny  windows 
behind  the  band  of  ornamental  stucco,  more  often  buff 
in  colour  than  not,  that  finishes  off  the  top  of  the  house, 
as  if  you  were  to  put  a  bit  of  edging  on  a  square  morsel 
of  linen.  The  doorways  all  describe  the  form  of  a 
narrow  Roman  arch,  cut  at  the  left  of  two  stubby 
windows.  The  opening  of  this  wooden  door  engages 
the  visitor,  without  preliminaries,  in  the  close  gloom  of 


10  THE  IMMORTAL  GYMNASTS 

a  hallway  that  tries  to  imitate  a  barrel-vault.  The 
yellowish  linoleum  under  your  feet,  the  yellowish  paper 
on  the  wall,  veined  to  imitate  who  knows  what  Numidian 
marble,  compose  no  harmonies  for  your  unhappy  soul. 
You  begin  to  breathe  only  when  the  back  door  is  open, 
that  carries  your  eye  down  two  steps  into  a  teacup  of 
a  garden  where  the  long,  green  fingers  of  untrimmed 
shrubs  straggle  across  the  red-brick  path  that  leads  to 
a  pale  laburnum,  spraying  its  magic  fountain  of  yellow 
wine  in  the  corner  by  the  paling. 

Bina  lives  in  the  house  at  the  end  of  the  row,  so  that 
the  milk  tins  can  call  almost  surreptitiously  at  a  side 
door.  The  stubby  windows  have  been  let  down,  merged, 
and  inflated  in  the  clever  manner  known  to  builders. 
Within,  circular  white  shelves  bear  fair  blue  tiles  on 
which  repose  the  pots  of  cream,  the  rounded  jars  of 
milk,  the  pyramids  of  eggs  in  wicker  baskets,  and  the 
cheeses — these  tiny,  moist  ones,  each  in  its  own  little 
pannier,  oozing  drops  of  cream,  the  stately  Cheshire, 
the  haughty  Gorgonzola,  the  civic  Chester,  the  mild 
Edam,  the  coquettish  Roquefort,  the  soft,  swelling 
Camembert  in  its  wooden  ring.  Below,  on  white  tiles, 
lie  the  minted  golden  coins  of  the  dairy — the  pats,  the 
squares,  the  rounds,  the  "  luscious  lumps  "  of  butter  of 
surpassing  firmness,  fragrance,  and  colour. 

The  early  morning  toilet  of  this  little  shop,  attended 
to  by  Bina  in  person,  involves  such  a  laving  with  pure 
water,  such  a  scrubbing  and  rubbing,  such  a  patting  and 
polishing,  such  a  fresh-filling  of  baskets  and  panniers, 
such  a  meticulous  care  in  the  removal  of  crumbs  and 
splashes,  of  chips  and  flakes,  that,  even  before  the  two 
big  china  bowls  that  stand  behind  the  milk  jars  are 


THE  IMMORTAL  GYMNASTS  11 

filled  with  rosy  garden  pinks,  sweet  basil  and  sprigs  of 
thyme,  you  sniff  an  air  as  aromatic  as  lavender,  as 
sweet  as  a  clover  meadow. 

As  you  enter  the  street  from  the  farther  end,  the 
rounded  window  stands  out  from  among  the  dull  house 
fronts  as  fresh  as  a  great  country  posy — all  blue  and 
white  and  yellow,  the  blue  of  larkspur,  the  white  of 
hawthorn,  the  yellow  of  cowslips.  No  wonder  that 
trade  is  good,  no  wonder  that  the  coins  gather  in  the 
till,  that  the  order-book  grows  plumper  and  plumper, 
and  the  customers  sleeker  and  sleeker  fed  on  such  whole- 
some dainties.  Bina  herself,  busy  at  her  shelves,  sur- 
rounded by  the  mild  fruits  of  the  field  and  the  dairy, 
has  become  a  human  little  Bona  Dea,  duly  engarlanded, 
flying  her  Delia  Robbia  colours. 

A  door  with  an  eyehole  of  glass  in  it,  in  order  that 
Bina  may  rake  the  shop  when  they  have  left  it  alone, 
leads  into  the  heart  of  the  house,  into  the  room  of  the 
domestic  hearth,  of  fire,  of  light,  the  room  where  the 
three  friends  meet,  where  Panta  has  his  leather  chair 
and  his  stand  of  books,  where  Quin  keeps  his  pipe,  and 
where  Bina  sheds  her  warm,  rosy,  hospitable,  human 
glow.  It  is  a  room  of  ancient,  friendly  aspect,  won  for 
it  by  the  comfortable,  unembarrassed  manner  of  its 
chairs  and  its  tables,  by  its  ample  cupboards  built  into 
the  corners,  whence  emerge  tea-caddy  and  cups  at  the 
consecrated  hours,  by  its  warm,  old  curtains  with  their 
faded  pattern  of  singing  birds  and  leafy  branches  to 
draw  across  the  cold,  twilight  squares  of  the  windows 
just  before  you  give  the  fire  the  gratuitous  poke  that 
must  ever  precede  the  ceremony  of  putting  on  the 
kettle. 


13  THE  IMMORTAL  GYMNASTS 

In  this  room,  late  one  afternoon,  Panta  broke  the 
silence  thus: 

"  I  sometimes  forget,  Quin,  don't  you,  that  we  were 
ever  anything  else  but  earth-bound?  It  is  so  long  since 
I  have  been  conscious  of  the  faintest  stir  of  that  cloud- 
current  that  is  our  heritage.  I  do  believe  we  have  all 
become  almost  as  Cubical  as  any  of  the  good  people  in 
this  very  street." 

"  Why  Cubical  ?  "  inquired  Bina,  not  unnaturally. 

"  Panta  has  been  dipping  into  the  Doctor  of  Harley 
Street,"  answered  Quin.  "  He  has  written  an  amusing 
little  book  in  which,  actually,  our  existence  as  distinct 
from  our  earth-bound  fellows  (whom  he  calls  Cubes, 
solids,  you  know,  oh,  stodgy!)  is  more  than  hinted  at. 
It  seems  that  this  clever  fellow,  this  nerve  specialist, 
has  run  across  the  workings  of  our  cloud-currents,  the 
strange  waves  that  govern  our  being,  as  the  earth- 
currents  regulate  theirs.  He  has  suspected  our  existence 
for  many  years,  we  and  our  like,  but  he  has  never  been 
able  to  lay  that  long,  supple,  white  hand  on  any  of  us — 
feel  us,  yes,  be  dimly  conscious  of  a  something  influenc- 
ing those  black,  soundless  underpaths  in  the  minds  of 
those  poor  devils  who  throng  his  clinic — but  i  get  us,' 
never!  There  are  so  few  of  us  left  now,  this  hard, 
definite,  Cubical  life  bruises,  blunts,  and  finally  destroys 
us.  We  have  dropped  down  into  their  atmosphere  from 
our  own  peculiar  Cloudland,  and  we  have  lost  the  way 
back.  We  are  scouts,  perhaps,  sent  on  to  smell  out 
the  country.  But  the  time  is  not  yet,  and  we  are  en- 
gulfed and  forgotten.  We  trail  our  clouds  of  glory  for 
a  time,  and  then  one  colour  of  the  sunset  dies  off  after 
another,  and  we   sink  down  into  the   dull,  practical, 


THE  IMMORTAL  GYMNASTS  13 

Cubical  grey,  lit  by  no  flash,  transfigured  by  no  purple 
and  gold.  May  we  not  be,  perhaps,  the  great-great- 
grandchildren of  the  great-grandchildren  of  those  minor 
gods  who  went  out  into  exile  when  that  Voice  cried, 
braving  the  *  thunder  of  Pontic  seas  •  (a  fine  phrase  of 
one  of  their  English  poets),  that  Pan  was  dead?  Some 
few  of  us  still  guard  the  intuitive  knowledge  of  how  to 
— shall  I  say — '  tap '  the  earth-currents  by  means  of 
the  touchstone  of  our  own  cloud-heritage.  It  is  this 
intrusion  into  the  minds  of  his  disordered  flock  that  has 
aroused  our  Doctor  of  Harley  Street." 

"  Oh,  I  see,"  said  Bina,  although  she  didn't  quite. 
"  How  very  interesting." 

"  How  well  I  remember  the  old  days,"  continued 
Panta. 

"  Before  we  changed  our  names  and  became  so  oddly 
respectable,"  put  in  the  irrepressible  Bina. 

"  Yes,  yes,"  he  admitted.  "  We  men  of  Cloudland 
were  devils  of  fellows,  eh,  Quin?  Doors  and  windows, 
if  I  recollect,  never  kept  you  out,  nor  roofs  either." 

"  Not  when  Bina  was  within,  certainly,"  replied 
Quin  with  immense  conviction. 

"  I  was  inside  the  little  house,  to  be  sure,  but  it  was 
all  of  cardboard.  Now  this  shop  is  solid  wood,  with  a 
roof  that  fits  it  like  a  skullpiece.  That  is  the  difference 
between  Cloudland  and  Cubeland,  between  dreams 
and " 

"  Don't  say  *  reality.'  I  couldn't  stand  that,"  pro- 
tested Panta. 

"  Of  course,  these  Cubes  are  not  real.  We  only  pre- 
tend they  are,  because  they  believe  it  so  passionately 
themselves.      Even   we   seem   Cubical  to   them,   and   a 


14  THE  IMMORTAL  GYMNASTS 

good  thing,  too,  or  they  would  not  buy  my  eggs  and 
milk.  You  would  have  to  sleep  in  a  cloud-cap,  Pant  a 
mio,  instead  of  in  that  tidy  little — cubical  upstairs." 

Here  a  boy  in  a  brown  knitted  suit  that  fitted  over  his 
plump  little  stomach  like  a  second,  slightly  woolly,  skin, 
came  in  for  an  egg.  To  his  Cubical  eyes  Panta  seemed 
simply  an  old  man  with  a  wisp  of  beard  and  a  black 
silk  cap ;  to  them,  again,  Quin  was  merely  a  darkish 
person  with  nice  eyes  and  extraordinarily  long  legs,  and 
Bina  a  pretty  girl  not  unlike  his  sister. 

When  the  boy  had  gone,  carrying  the  egg  in  a 
minute  paper  bag,  the  fellows  of  which  Panta  amused 
himself  by  cutting  and  pasting  in  odd  moments,  Bina 
said : 

"  Are  we  ever  to  know  what  is  inside  of  us  ?  " 

"  A  Cube  would  tell  you  fast  enough,  and  coarsely, 
too,  ugh — anatomical  charts,"  growled  Panta. 

"  Sugar  and  spice,  thyme  and  honey,  for  a  lady," 
sang  Quin. 

Bina  stared  at  the  two  men  with  her  large,  bright 
eyes.  "  Come  into  the  sitting-room  and  we  can  talk  it 
out.  It  is  dark  enough  to  pull  the  curtains,  the  Cubes 
are  already  at  their  tea,  and  no  one  will  want  even  a 
penny's  worth  of  anything  until  to-morrow  morning. 
See  how  red  the  heart  of  the  ash  is  f  You  don't  need 
a  blaze  for  toast." 

Panta  sat  himself  down  carefully  in  his  leather  arm- 
chair, trying  not  to  slide ;  Quin  crossed  his  legs  on  the 
hearthrug,  his  favorite  lounging  place.  He  held  the 
toasting-fork  with  the  careless  ease  of  an  expert,  and 
presently  a  sweet,  familiar,  heart-warming  smell  filled 
the   little   room.      Bina   managed   the  table   and  the 


THE  IMMORTAL  GYMNASTS  15 

service  of  cups  from  which  they  drank  their  velvety 
J3rew — oh,  not  what  Cubes  consume  from  tannin-stained 
receptacles,  but  a  full,  rich,  mellow  liquid,  bronze 
streaked  with  gold,  in  which  is  caught,  melted,  fused, 
transfused,  all  the  sunny  magic  that  rests  on  Indian 
fields. 

"  When  I  asked  what  is  inside  of  us,"  resumed  Bina, 
as  she  rinsed  the  three  cups  in  a  hand-bowl,  "  I  did  not 
mean — tummies.  I  meant  thoughts  and  feelings,  pas- 
sions and  pains.  We  know  them  when  they  give  us 
a  tug.  They  bite  and  tear  us  like  little  vicious  blind 
animals,  or  they  caress  and  warm  us  with  velvet  paws. 
We  belong  to  them,  not  they  to  us.  We  are  their 
lodgings  for  the  night.  I  don't  like  it.  I  want 
to  make  them  sign  a  paper  of  good  conduct  at  the 
door." 

Panta  had  let  his  thin  old  body  slip  down  helplessly 
over  the  worn  leather  of  his  chair,  so  that  he  gave  the 
appearance  of  one  who  would  fain  recline  upon  the  floor, 
if  politeness  to  a  lady  permitted.  He  said  nothing, 
being  soothed  to  speechlessness  by  the  warmth  and  the 
tea. 

Quin  raised  his  tired  eyes  that  kept  their  incongruous 
look  of  faith  and  hope  and  youth — but  that  was  because 
he  loved  her — to  Bina's  face.  "  You  poor  child,  you. 
We  are  the  hostels  for  the  imps  our  ancestors  made  and 
left  to  us.  They  make  themselves  at  home  without  a 
1  by  your  leave  ' ;  they  swagger  in  our  inn  parlour,  and 
we  suffer  them  to  exploit  us  without  a  reckoning.  But 
we  have  the  power,  could  we  use  it,  to  breed  up  one 
stout  champion  to  keep  these  unruly  bullies  and  led 
captains  in  order.     He  appears  to  me,  this  hero,  to  be 


16  THE  IMMORTAL  GYMNASTS 

dressed  in  blue,  in  doublet  and  hose,  with  a  peaked 
beard  and  a  frill.  He  sometimes  swings  a  short  cloak 
from  his  shoulders,  and  he  is  sometimes  busy  with 
tablets  in  his  hand.  He  is  tall  and  rather  pale.  He 
presents  himself  to  my  imagination  in  this  period,  be- 
cause, like  this  great  namesake  of  his,  he  is  called — 
Will " 

"  Think  all  but  one,  and  me  in  that  one  « Will.' " 

Quin  sighed,  then  smiled.  Panta  was  dozing.  Bina, 
having  dried  her  cups,  came  and  sat  beside  Quin,  with 
her  hands  about  her  knees. 

"  Talk  to  me,"  she  murmured,  and  who  wouldn't 
have  when  she  looked  like  that  ? 

"  I  will  tell  you  of  what  I  was  thinking  when  you 
spoke  of  the  little  beasts  that  scratch  or  kiss  our  souls," 
responded  Quin.  "  You  know  that  I  have  not  forgotten 
all  my  old  tricks.  I  can  still  tap  the  currents  of  certain 
Cubical  minds,  and  read  what  I  find  there.  Now  there  is 
a  great  house  in  Belgrave  Square.  There  is  a  portico 
with  tall,  channelled  columns ;  a  pediment ;  trophies  of 
arms.  There  you  have  the  pure  absurdity  of  a  dwelling 
masquerading  as  a  temple,  the  Cubical  idea  of  dignity, 
pomposity  in  stucco.  In  the  vast,  dim  cellarage  are 
men  and  maids — a  warren  of  them — fighting,  eating, 
laughing,  drinking,  put  there  to  serve  and  to  be  servile. 
As  a  matter  of  fact,  they  gossip,  lie,  and  brag. 

"  Above  stairs,  in  that  long,  lofty  drawing-room, 
hung  with  old-fashioned,  heavy  red,  there  are  candles 
in  brackets,  an  eighteenth-century  lustre  to  wink  and 
twinkle  at  night  in  the  clouded,  greyish  mirrors.  If  you 
seat  yourself  near  one  of  the  windows  that  overlook  the 
square  where  plane-trees  hang  their  coarse,  trembling 


THE  IMMORTAL  GYMNASTS  17 

leaves  over  the  railings  by  the  cab-rank,  you  will  have 
enough  light,  even  on  dark  days,  to  read  your  book  or 
your  newspaper,  but  over  there,  midway  the  length  of 
the  great  room,  near  the  fireplace  where  that  trumpery 
little  desk  stands,  there  is  a  gloomy  twilight  that  irri- 
tates your  eyelids  like  those  of  this  girl  here,  that  lies 
upon  them  so  that  you  strain  them  wider  and  wider 
over  tired  eyeballs — a  twilight  that  is  not  soft  and  tran- 
quil, but  harsh  and  menacing. 

"  This  girl  I  tell  you  of  is  trying  with  all  her  little 
harassed  soul  to  write  a  letter,  but  what  words  can  she 
find  to  ache  and  burn  in  his  brain,  as  the  fever  aches 
and  burns  in  her  poor,  pretty,  tortured  body?  You 
must  remember  that  quite  by  accident,  as  I'll  explain 
later,  I  was  plunged  into  the  full  flood  of  her  painful 
little  story.  There  is  a  chap  she  calls  Ambry,  with 
whom  she  has  been  quite  desperately  engaged  for  some 
wild  weeks,  unknown  to  mamma,  or  to  anyone  else, 
I  gather.  He  is  growing  tired,  after  the  fashion  of  his 
kindj  has  even  cast  an  appreciative  eye,  worse  luck! 
upon  the  little  lady's  more  dashing  sister.  He  has  lied 
to  Anie — the  first  girl,  you  see — has  said  he  was  going 
down  to  his  place  at  Appleton — an  old  house  among 
the  pines — when  in  reality  he  has  been  flirting  with 
Sister  Estelle  at  Hurlingham.  A  rather  ancient  tale, 
but  none  the  less  distressing  for  the  young  Anie,  who  is 
as  helpless  and  sweet  as  a  small  kitten  with  its  starry 
eyes  just  open.  She  has  been  innocent  and  mad  enough 
to  meet  her  Ambry,  who,  at  least,  should  have  known 
better,  in  the  sitting-room  of  a  German  ex-governess, 
as  foolishly  sentimental  an  elderly  dame  as  her  nation 
can  produce,  which  is  saying  a  good  deal. 


18  THE  IMMORTAL  GYMNASTS 

"  Anie,  poor  child,  is  writing  now  to  deliver  her 
wretched  little  ultimatum  that  he  shall  meet  her  at  two 
o'clock  to-morrow  at  this  Fraulein  Detmold's.  You 
gather  that  a  painful  scene  is  being  prepared.  It  shows 
how  young  she  is  to  pin  her  faith  to  any  such  interview. 
Her  blessed  Ambry  has  flitted  for  good.  One  can  easily 
see  that." 

Here  Quin  ceases  with  the  manner  of  one  who  has 
closed  a  book,  but  who  still  keeps  a  finger  in  the  page. 
Panta  has  not  shifted  an  inch,  his  grey  old  eyelids 
motionless. 

"  If  I  had  a  little  daughter — —  "  began  Bina. 

"  She  would  be  clothed  in  morning  light,"  said  Quin. 
"  But  this  poor,  pretty,  hapless  child,  in  that  great 
house  with  its  stucco  pomp !  What  a  type  of  the  vicious 
life  that  can  be  led  in  such  places,  the  life  of  hollow 
Cubes,  mud-filled  more  often  than  not!  This  Ambry, 
now,  what  a  fellow  for  you !  With  that  charm  and  that 
blond,  amusing  masque  that  has  carried  him  straight 
through  from  the  nursery,  serving  him  as  deftly,  as 
neatly,  as  unscrupulously  as  any  Caroline  groom  of  the 
king's  closet,  as  any  Baptist  May  of  the  Backstairs.  An 
honest  man's  hands  itch  for  his  neck.  Yet  he  and  his 
fellows  are  such  simple  sorts  of  beasts — such  physically 
sane,  clean,  healthy,  pink — ruffians,  with  their  shoulders 
and  their  boys'  gaze,  their  swagger  and  their  side.  And 
this  poor  little  rag  of  a  girl  in  Belgrave  Square,  with 
her  drowned  eyes  and  her  feverish  blood,  has  poured  out 
all  the  gold  of  her  morning,  with  its  dew  and  its  fresh- 
ness, over  this  Ambry's  careless  hands  !  " 

Quin  knocked  hi?  pipe  against  the  fender,  staring  at 
the  little  mess  of  grey  ashes  that  resulted  from  this 


THE  IMMORTAL  GYMNASTS  19 

simple  act  as  though,  for  the  first  time,  the  mighty 
concept  called  loosely  "  cause  and  effect  "  had  swum 
into  his  mind.  In  reality,  he  felt  himself  unduly  heated 
by  his  story,  and  shamefacedly  did  not  want  Bina  to 
remark  his  sensibility. 

"  So  these  pretty  maids,"  said  she,  "  in  such  great 
houses,  with  mothers  and  grandmothers,  fathers,  uncles 
and  governesses,  break  their  young  wings  as  easily  as 
any  poor  friendless  girl,  come  in  from  the  country  to 
sordid  alley  or  stifling  shop.  The  same  flesh  in  both  of 
them  goes  the  same  road.  But  tell  me,  Quin,  when  did 
you  run  across  this  little  lady?  Is  her  story  in  the 
making?  Is  she  living  it  now  from  day  to  day,  she  and 
Estelle  and  Ambry?  Or  is  it  something  of  long  ago — 
something  that  has  burned  out  and  ended?  " 

"  It's  as  fresh  as  paint,"  answered  Quin.  "  It  hap- 
pened yesterday  morning.  There  was  I  as  sandwich- 
man  for  this  Turkish  bath-house  in  Victoria  Street,  in 
my  towel  suit  with  a  fez.  Lord!  You  know  what  a 
sight  I  am — a  change  from  the  spangled  tights  of  the 
old  days,  the  masque,  the  lathe,  and — you!  Well,  my 
beat  for  the  moment  is  Sloane  Street,  edging  off  now 
and  again  to  the  Squares,  and  yesterday  morning  this 
is  what  happened.  The  little  lady  came  riding  down 
from  the  Row,  such  a  thin  slip  of  a  creature — you  could 
snap  her  at  the  waist  between  your  finger  and  thumb — 
in  her  black  habit  and  her  mannish  hat  over  her  thick, 
clubbed  hair.  Well,  her  horse  lost  his  head  at  my  fez 
(I  can't  blame  the  brute),  reared  and  snorted,  and  shook 
her  off  like  a  bit  of  summer  fluff.  The  groom  and  I 
caught  her  between  us.  What  a  figure  I  cut  you 
may  imagine.     She  barely  touched  my  chest  with  her 


20  THE  IMMORTAL  GYMNASTS 

hand  to  steady  herself,  and  that  was  all  I  wanted.  In- 
stantly the  inner  cloud-currents  that  differentiate  us 
from  these  Cubical  creatures  began  to  send  me  messages. 
In  a  twinkling  I  was  in  the  little  hollow  receiving-room 
of  this  young  girl's  mind,  where  records,  millions  of 
them,  were  being  ticked  off  every  second,  sent  in  from 
every  tingling  nerve-filament,  every  instant  of  her  wak- 
ing life.  The  touch  of  the  little  lady's  fingers  on  my 
breast  gave  me  the  clue.  She  never  knew,  you  may  be 
sure.  To  her  I  was  simply  a  street  loafer,  a  sandwich- 
man,  perhaps  a  bit  more  repulsively  grotesque  than  the 
rest  of  my  peers  by  reason  of  my  fez  and  my  towelling, 
but  a  decent  enough  chap  who  caught  her  not  uncleverly 
when  she  fell.  And  there  I  stood,  with  the  heart  of  her 
mystery  in  my  hand  while  she  thanked  me  in  that  sweet, 
high,  little  pipe  of  hers,  and  told  me  to  come  to  the  house 
in  Belgrave  Square  in  all  the  pride  of  its  columns,  its 
trophies,  and  its  cellarage,  its  quintessential  Cubical 
prosperity,  to  be  rethanked  and  paid,  because  neither 
she  nor  the  groom  had  any  money  on  them.  So  I  bowed 
and  removed  my  fez,  and  watched  her  go,  riding  her 
subdued  mount  who  seemed  the  least  little  bit  ashamed 
of  himself.  Then  I  slipped  around  a  corner.  Little 
did  she  think  that  she  had  given  me  the  royal  right 
of  way,  not  to  the  servants'  entrance  (No  bottles!)  of 
the  house  in  Belgrave  Square,  but  to  her  poor,  tortured 
little  mind.  I  had  but  to  concentrate  my  cloud-current, 
sitting  quite  still  up  there  in  my  room,  and  I  was  more 
*  on  the  spot 9  than  had  I  slid  down  the  chimney  in  my 
spangled  tights,  waving  my  magic  sword." 

Bina  fixed  him  with  a  serious  gaze. 

"  But  is  it  quite  fair  to  the  little  lady,  Quin?    She  is 


THE  IMMORTAL  GYMNASTS  21 

so  defenceless  while  you  read  off  her  messages,  so  ig- 
norant that  there  is  anything  to  hug  and  hide." 

"  My  dear  child,  you  misunderstand,  or  you  forget," 
cries  Quin.  "  Were  I  a  Cube  like  herself,  I  should  be 
a  dastard  to  read  her  mind,  to  pry  into  her  life,  because 
we  would  both  be  on  the  same  plane,  in  the  same  eddy 
of  the  earth-current ;  what  she  felt,  I  would  feel,  exactly 
in  the  same  way — a  matter  of  Cubical  sensation.  It 
would  be  a  shameful  thing  for  me  so  to  see  the  little 
lady,  my  sister-Cube,  off  her  guard,  in  that  inner  cham- 
ber where  there  are  no  veils  for  even  the  most  virginal 
of  shrinking  souls.  It  would  be  as  dastardly  as  an 
assault  for  me  to  peek  and  pry.  But,  Bina,  thank  God, 
I'm  not  quite  Cubical  yet,  in  spite  of  the  fez,  the  towel- 
ling, the  sandwich  badge  of  slavery.  The  cloud-currents 
still  sway  and  swing  us  instead  of  the  earth  ones*  and, 
by  virtue  of  that,  we  can  look  into  other  lives  with  as 
pure  and  dispassionate  a  gaze  as  the  Bon  Dieu  himself." 

Quin  pulled  his  slim  length  up  from  the  hearthrug, 
and  rested  a  lean  arm  on  the  mantelshelf,  smiling  down 
into  Bina's  eyes.  In  some  old  Dutchmen's  pictures 
you  see  just  such  fair,  smooth  faces  as  hers,  warm, 
golden,  glowing  with  the  suave  irradiation  of  firelight 
or  candlelight.  Tiny  flames  seemed  to  flicker  at  the 
end  of  each  curl  of  hair  upon  her  head,  and  two  of 
Loki's  merry  imps  lit  a  dancing  jet  in  each  long-lashed 
eye. 

Then  their  talk  drifted  off,  idly,  happily,  to  the  little 
doings  of  their  common  life,  while  the  twilight  deepened 
into  evening  and  night. 

Pantaloon,  aroused  at  length  by  the  sudden  cessation 
of  their  voices,  sat  bolt  upright,  pretending  at  once  in 


THE  IMMORTAL  GYMNASTS 


a  way  old  people  have  that  he  had  never  been  asleep 
at  all. 

"  Time  for  a  bit  of  cheese  and  then  to  bed,"  sang 
out  Panta,  speaking  sententiously  to  show  that — for, 
oh,  yes,  quite  several  minutes — he  had  been  thinking 
this  over,  but  had  not  wished  to  interrupt  them. 

Quin  and  Bina  exchanged  the  amused  glances  of  a 
very  wise,  young  father  and  mother  whose  offspring  has 
surprised  them  again  by  some  unnatural  cleverness. 

Bina  drew  out  the  leaves  of  a  small  wooden  table ; 
Quin  fetched  the  square  cloth  from  a  drawer ;  the  cheese 
appeared,  a  ruddy  golden  one,  knives  came  to  cut  it, 
forks  to  toast  it  over  the  coals,  salt  to  sprinkle  it,  and 
small  beer  in  two-handled  mugs  to  circle  about  it,  hot 
in  the  mouth.  Thus  were  assembled  the  minor  domestic 
spirits  that  keep  the  heart  sweet  and  man's  temper 
equable. 

So  the  three  friends  sat  down  to  their  sober  snack  in 
the  little  room  behind  the  shop — these  three  inheritors 
of  ancient  glory,  these  fluid  changelings  dropped  from 
Hither-Space  into  a  hard,  definite,  Cubical  world,  that 
in  a  twinkling  has  caught  them  in  its  electric  traps,  and 
broken  them  to  its  labour — Quin  to  the  harness  of  the 
sandwich-board,  Panta  to  the  brass  badge  of  the  odd- 
job-man,  and  soft,  young  Bina  to  the  till  and  the 
counter,  the  scales,  and  the  swinging  door  of  the  little 
shop. 


CHAPTER  TWO 

"  ^  X  TELL,  I  won't  go,  that's  flat.     Go  to  that 

\/  \f  crazy  old  German  woman's,  and  begin  the 
whole,  awful  thing  again?  I  simply  can't. 
I  simply  won't." 

He  crammed  the  letter  into  his  pocket,  the  flushed, 
angry  young  face  lowering  across  the  little  table  laid 
for  breakfast,  where  a  despoiled  dish  of  kidneys  and  an 
empty  toast-rack  unemotionally  testified  that  shame  and 
bad  temper  do  not  necessarily  interfere  with  the  normal 
appetite  of  man. 

"  You're  rather  a  cad,  you  know,  Ambry,"  said  the 
slim  boy  who  faced  his  friend  at  the  little  table  by  the 
fire.  "  You've  bungled  the  thing  from  the  very  first, 
telling  me  the  story  as  one  of  Dick's  silly  messes,  and 
then  letting  out  names  and  dates — you  and  Anie — —  " 

"  Oh,  shut  up,  will  you?  Don't  nag  at  a  fellow  now. 
I  had  to  talk  to  somebody.  How  was  I  to  know  you 
were  so  thick  there?  How  was  I  to  know  that  your 
mother  and  Lady  Cassock  are  half-sisters?  I  met  her 
at  the  Lynes,  away  from  all  her  people.  Of  course, 
each  knew  who  the  other  was,  connexions  and  all  that, 
but  we  had  a  pretty  bad  case  while  it  lasted " 

"  Six  weeks  would  cover  your  part,  wouldn't  it?  " 
interjected  Varian. 

"  And  we  were  not  talking  of  family  trees,"  went 
on  Ambry,  without  taking  any  notice  of  him.  "  For 
me,  she  dropped  from  nowhere  into  my  arms  the  day 


24  THE  IMMORTAL  GYMNASTS 

she  came  sidling,  with  that  silly,  little,  uncertain  gait 
of  hers " 

"  Don't !  "  put  in  Varian  angrily. 

"  I've  got  to  tell  you  about  it,  haven't  I  ?  "  retorted 
Ambry.  "  You  know  how  she  walks,  characteristic 
enough,  I  suppose,  but  deuced  unsteady.  Well,  she 
came  into  that  pokey,  green,  drawing-room  at  the 
Lynes,  and  no  one  else  was  down,  and  we  got  talking, 
and  that's  the  way  it  all  started.  She  went  mad,  and 
I  suppose  I  did,  too.  Of  course,  I  did.  I  completely 
lost  my  head.  I  must  have  been  insane  to  meet  her  at 
that  confounded  German  governess's.  Lord!  I'd  give 
a  good  deal  to  be  well  out  of  it.  Why  can't  she 
drop  me?  I've  treated  her  like  a  beast.  I'm  willing  to 
admit  it — —  " 

"  Oh,  it's  an  easy  admission  for  the  beast  to  make, 
but  she  carries  your  claw  marks.  Good  God,  Ambry, 
how  can  you  sit  down  under  it  ?  " 

The  slim  boy  pushed  back  his  chair  and  went  over 
to  the  piano,  keeping  his  back  to  his  friend.  Varian 
Edmonton's  smooth  young  face  had  that  long,  charming, 
oval  form  you  see  in  some  of  Van  Dyck's  portraits  of 
adolescents,  that  one  of  Thomas  Wharton,  for  instance. 
Here  were  the  same  large,  clear  eyes,  set  well  apart 
under  the  broad  brow,  the  straight,  short  nose,  with 
sensitive  nostrils,  the  well-cut,  generous  lips,  the  upper 
one  a  trifle  short.  The  whole  presented  an  engaging 
ensemble,  gave  an  instant  impression  of  courage,  of 
frankness,  of  chivalrous,  clear  purpose. 

Ambry  fidgeted  about  the  room,  rang  the  bell  for  the 
man  to  remove  the  breakfast  things,  and  when  they 
were  alone  again  broke  out  with: 


THE  IMMORTAL  GYMNASTS  25 

"Why  do  I  sit  down  under  it?  How  the  devil  can 
I  do  anything  else  ?  " 

"  Marry  her,  hang  it,  Ambry.  You  know  that  as 
well  as  I  do.  Try  to  clean  up  your  dirty  work,  at 
least." 

"  Oh,  it  isn't  so  bad  as  all  that.  I — I'll  have  to 
crawl,  I  suppose,  but  she'll  get  over  it  when  she  really 
understands." 

"  Who's  going  to  make  her — you  ?  From  what  you've 
told  me  of  that  letter  this  morning,  I  can  see  that 
you've  lied  and  shuffled  and  squirmed  a  bit,  but  you 
haven't  been  frank.  You  haven't  faced  it.  You're  tortur- 
ing the  poor  child.  What  she  sees  in  you,  Lord  knows. 
You  can't  run  straight " 

"  Look  here,  cut  it,  Varian.  Why  must  you  preach  ? 
I'm  no  worse  than  the  rest  of  us — well,  not  you,  per- 
haps. You  can't  seem  to  understand  a  chap  losing  his 
head  about  a  girl,  and  then — getting  over  it." 

"  Getting  over  it,  yes,  after  you're  tired  of  seeing 
her  down  beside  you  in  the  mud.  Oh,  you  can  pull 
yourself  out  of  it,  and  you  do.  None  of  it  sticks  to 
you" 

Ambry  kicked  a  chair  about  to  face  the  fire,  chose  a 
cigarette  from  the  big  silver  box,  but  held  it  unlighted 
between  his  lips  while  he  laid  an  arm  around  Varian's 
shoulders  and  looked  him  in  the  eye.  There  was  a  charm 
in  the  gesture,  a  rather  intense  attraction  in  the  tall, 
well-knit  body  trained  to  the  last  inch,  perfectly  sane 
and  healthy,  in  the  fair,  florid  face  with  a  boyish  fresh- 
ness in  the  clear  eyes,  in  the  white  teeth,  in  the  vigorous 
hair,  to  all  of  which  Varian,  nervous  and  introspective, 
found  he  was,  to  his  disgust,  by  no  means  insensible. 


36  THE  IMMORTAL  GYMNASTS 

He  jerked  his  shoulder,  as  a  sort  of  protest  to  himself, 
but  Ambry  held  on  to  him  with  that  strong,  firm  hand, 
bending  his  high  head  to  catch  the  boy's  indignant 
look. 

"  It's  not  so  bad  as  you  think.  I  swear  it,  Varian. 
There  isn't  any  mud  to  stick.  I've  been  frightfully 
careful.  Absolutely  not  a  soul  knows.  Fraulein  would 
cut  herself  up  in  small  pieces  for  Anie,  and  I  have  met 
her  there  only — twice,  yes,  twice.  First,  when  she  came 
up  to  town  from  the  Lynes " 

"  You  must  have  got  awfully  thick  in  three  days. 
When  was  it?  " 

"  Yes,  we  did.  There's  something  about  her.  In 
the  beginning,  something  pathetic.  You're  so  infernally 
sorry  for  her.  Why,  the  Lord  only  knows.  She's  like 
a  bird  some  fool  has  hit  with  a  stone.  You  take  her  up 
in  your  hands,  and — then  you  can't  drop  her.  She 
clutches  you  with  those  little  reeds  of  fingers.  You 
can't  get  the  look  in  her  big  eyes  out  of  your  head. 
But  you  get  tired  of  it — damned  tired  of  it.  I  tell  you, 
Varian — .  No,  hold  still;  let  me  finish.  Lord  knows 
I  don't  want  to  whitewash  myself,  but  I  tell  you  she 
can't  hold  you.  She  can't  hold  me.  She  makes  me 
ugly.  She  eats  you  up — the  same  eternal  thing.  A 
fellow  can't  play  the  game  as  she  wants  it.  She's  a 
bundle  of  nerves,  flying  up  over  the  housetops,  while 
you're  standing  in  Piccadilly.  Well,  I  prefer  Piccadilly. 
I'm  over  it  now.  I  confess  I  lost  my  head  at  her  first 
sweetness — she's  such  a  little  sidling,  big-eyed  thing — 
but  I've  shaken  down,  and  she  won't  or  can't.  There 
you  have  the  whole  thing.  I  tell  you,  Varian,  if  I 
married  her,  I'd  be  a  beast  to  her.    So  what's  the  use? 


THE  IMMORTAL  GYMNASTS  27 

If  she  still  went  on — being  fond  of  me,  I  think  I'd  have 
it  in  me  to  break  her  neck." 

Ambry  withdrew  his  arm  and  lighted  his  cigarette 
with  a  care  that  bespoke  a  desire  to  catch  his  breath. 

"  You're  low  all  through,"  announced  Varian,  "  and 
the  only  good  thing  about  it  is  that  you  know  it.  But 
Anie !  I  simply  can't  believe  it.  I  went  down  to  their 
place  for  all  my  holidays  when  mother  was  in  Rome. 
Anie  is  only  two  years  younger  than  I  am.  She  was 
always  a  delicate  little  kiddie.  I  used  to  read  to  her 
under  that  cedar.  You  don't  know  Crops,  do  you? 
They  haven't  the  money  to  keep  it  up,  but  it  has  won- 
derful gardens,  simply  because  they  can't  pay  enough 
men  to  trim  them  and  clip  them  out  of  all  recognition; 
a  tangled,  wild  place,  almost  too  sweet,  with  thickets 
of  honeysuckle  and  jasmine.  She  always  wore  little 
white  frocks,  with  that  hair  of  hers  tumbling  down  to 
her  waist.  One  day  I  read  the  ■  Ancient  Mariner '  to 
her.  I'll  never  forget  it.  She  grew  the  most  beautiful 
pink  with  excitement,  and  when  I  had  finished  the 
colour  all  faded  away  and  she  threw  herself  on  me, 
crying  in  floods.  Her  tears  got  all  over  the  book,  and 
my  hands  caught  in  her  hair.  It  hung  down  all  around 
in  a  cloud.  I'll  never  forget  it.  .  .  .  And  a  child  like 
that  to  break  her  heart  for  you !  She's  the  most  deli- 
cate, the  most  sensitive " 

"  She's  everything  you  say,"  put  in  Ambry,  "  and 
there's  where  the  trouble  is.  She's  too  fine  for  me.  She 
wouldn't  be  able  to  breathe  in  my  world  at  all,  and  I 
choke  in  hers.  Besides,  it  irritates  me.  She  irritates 
me.  She  annoys  me.  She  tires  me.  My  fault  entirely 
for  being  a  thick-skinned  beast,  but  the  fact  remains. 


THE  IMMORTAL  GYMNASTS 


What  in  heaven's  name  am  I  to  do?  I've  lied  to  her, 
and  she's  found  me  out,  and  yet  she  can  write  to  me 
like  this  and  make  herself  sick.  Good  Lord,  what  a 
world!" 

Ambry  Nunholme  betook  himself  to  the  window  and 
blew  a  coil  of  smoke  over  the  flower-box  into  the  quiet, 
sunny  air. 

Lady  Nunholme,  left  a  widow  with  one  boy,  the  place 
at  Appleton,  and  an  income  that  would  be  the  better 
for  nursing,  settled  the  matter  in  a  few  years,  when 
Ambry  was  at  Eton,  by  a  second  marriage  with  an 
elderly  and  amiable  individual,  a  personage  in  the  world 
of  banks  and  mines.  Mr.  Goodrich-Dow  and  Lady 
Nunholme  were  familiar  figures  every  season  at  those 
swollen  Continental  villages  where  you  take  the  waters 
for  Lord  knows  what.  At  other  times  they  opened  a 
big,  dull  house  not  too  far  off  Berkeley  Square.  Here 
Ambry  was  instructed  to  call  certain  rooms  his  own, 
wherein  he  changed  occasionally  when  he  was  dining 
with  his  mother  and  her  agreeable,  semi-paternal  con- 
sort, but  for  the  actual  purposes  of  life  he  kept  the  flat 
in  Wilton  Place. 

It  was  not  till  his  last  term  at  Oxford  that  he  fell  in 
with  Varian  Edmonton,  his  junior  by  some  three  years. 
Ambry,  by  no  means  a  dunce,  was  capable  of  having 
his  ambition  played  upon  by  a  rather  youngish  tutor 
whom  he  happened  to  fancy.  The  brilliant-looking  lad, 
with  his  high  head  and  the  charm  of  manner  he  could 
exercise  when  he  saw  fit,  made  himself  uncommonly 
interesting  to  this  tutor,  Johnstone-Ford,  who  enjoyed 
a  certain  amount  of  small  academic  fame,  working  early 
and  late  with  his  chosen  flock,  whipping  their  pride, 


THE  IMMORTAL  GYMNASTS  29 

beating  up  their  student  temper.  Generous,  eager,  un- 
sparing, he,  more  often  than  not,  lighted  up  in  these 
youngsters  the  sacred  flame  of  enthusiasm.  His  men 
stood  well  in  the  lists,  and  the  harrying  of  their  minds, 
the  grapple  with  diverse,  sometimes  subtle  tempera- 
ments, interested  Ford  far  more  than  the  weighty 
scientific  memoirs  he  forced  himself  to  labour  at  from 
time  to  time,  drawing  them  reluctantly  enough  from 
their  dusty  receptacles.  How  much  better  to  lick  into 
shape  the  living  organism,  with  the  clear  blood  show- 
ing in  the  fresh  young  faces,  the  tall  athletic  bodies 
tingling  from  exercise,  coming  up  the  towing-path  by 
the  meadows  in  the  twilight,  towel  over  shoulder,  pipe 
in  mouth. 

As  one  of  Ford's  nurslings,  Ambry  met  Varian,  tak- 
ing a  warm  liking  to  the  slim,  studious  lad,  younger 
than  himself  in  years,  but  much  older  by  virtue  of  a  fine 
mind,  just  now  in  the  ferment  of  self -discovery,  of  a 
nicely-balanced  moral  nature,  and  a  temperament  chilly 
enough  to  be  its  own  stopcock.  Ambry,  for  his  part, 
with  his  extraordinary  good  looks,  his  wild  spirits,  and 
a  certain  very  lovable,  if  fitful  modesty  in  regard  to 
his  own  attainments,  fascinated  Varian  Edmonton,  who 
found  in  him  a  vigorous,  rough-and-ready  correction  for 
the  nervous  boredom  that  frequently  beset  him. 

Losing  his  father  at  an  early  age,  Varian  had  been 
brought  up  by  his  delicate,  consumptive  mother,  hidden 
away  in  the  little,  old,  ivy-choked,  Dorset  manor  house. 
He  had  been  a  whimsical  child,  left  very  much  to  him- 
self, save  for  regular  lessons  with  the  rosy-cheeked 
young  Scotchwoman  who  helped  to  teach  the  rectory 
brood,  and  for  his  Latin  with  the  vicar.     Varian  will 


30 THE  IMMORTAL  GYMNASTS 

remember  as  long  as  he  lives  the  look,  the  atmosphere, 
of  certain  low  rooms  in  the  old  house.  How,  in  the 
spring,  when  the  small-paned  windows  were  set  open, 
the  light  would  weave  a  wavering  pattern  on  the  par- 
quetry floor,  glancing  and  gleaming  and  bowing  over 
the  big  nailheads  that  held  the  morsels  of  wood  to- 
gether in  one  of  the  simpler  designs  of  seventeenth- 
century  taste  in  such  matters.  How  his  mother's  little 
boudoir  was  hung  with  a  clear-coloured  French  paper, 
buff,  striped  with  pale  violet.  How  its  long  window 
opened  straight  on  the  garden  path,  bordered  with  huge, 
spreading  begonias,  orange-dappled,  crimson-dappled,  or 
freckled  like  a  ripe  apricot.  How,  on  sunny  mornings, 
there  seemed  to  be  a  mysterious  bloom,  a  sort  of  downi- 
ness, on  the  ancient  mellow  bricks  of  the  garden  walls. 
How  .  .  .  But  he  rarely  went  there  now.  The  place 
was  let  to  cousins.  Vagrant  thoughts  of  it  occasionally 
stirred  a  nostalgic  malaise  in  Varian,  a  vague,  irrational, 
reluctant  regret  for  the  long-past  childhood  that  had 
not  been  a  conspicuously  happy  one.  During  his  years 
at  Eton  the  house  was  closed,  his  mother  staying  in 
Rome  with  some  connexions  of  her  Italian  father — 
people  of  wealth  and  consideration  who  were  charmed 
with  the  fair,  delicate,  intelligent  woman.  Lady  Cas- 
sock, her  elder  half-sister  on  her  English  mother's  side, 
with  her  two  girls,  Anie  and  Estelle,  her  big  house  in 
Belgrave  Square,  and  the  place  at  Crops,  took  on  the 
boy  for  his  holidays,  growing  fond  of  him  in  her  care- 
less way,  principally  because  he  was  good-looking,  with 
little  chilly  airs  that  took  her  fancy. 

After  Ambry  and  Varian  went  down  from  the  Uni- 
versity, they  saw  little  of  each  other  until  a  year  before 


THE  IMMORTAL  GYMNASTS  31 

this  council  in  the  Wilton  Place  flat.  Ambry,  while 
playing  with  the  idea  of  diplomacy,  a  career  for  which 
he  was  singularly  unsuited,  occupied  the  almost  hon- 
orary billet  of  secretary  to  a  large,  imposing  individual 
of  enormous  interests  and  atrophied  personality,  an 
obliged  friend  of  Mr.  Goodrich-Dow.  Varian,  in  modest 
lodgings  just  around  the  corner  from  Eccleston  Square, 
cultivated  a  gauche  little  muse  in  the  intervals  of 
working  for  a  vast  encyclopaedic  dictionary  of  art  and 
artists,  that  a  publishing  firm  of  the  new  world-wide, 
wide-awake  variety  had  undertaken  with  immense  gusto 
and  fatiguing  fanfare  of  advertisement. 

Ambry  turned  away  from  the  window  to  reach  im- 
patiently across  the  table  for  another  cigarette. 

"  Well,  what  am  I  to  do  ?  We  can't  stick  here  all 
the  morning,  staring  at  each  other.  Writing  is  no 
good,  for  she  simply  won't  understand.  Varian — if 
you'd  only  help  a  fellow " 

"  I've  told  you  what  you  ought  in  decency  to  do,  and 
you  fly  out  and  swear  you  won't." 

"  Go  to  that  infernal  Detmold's— —  " 

"  Exactly.  You  went  there  gladly  enough  once, 
didn't  you?  Anie  will  drag  herself  out  of  bed  to  be 
there  to-day  at  two.  Are  you  going  to  let  her  wait 
after  that  letter?    Where  is  the  place?" 

"  Gordon  Square." 

"  Go — go — go,  and  get  over  with  it.  Look  as  you 
are  looking  at  me  now,  and  she'll  understand.  That  it 
should  be  little  Anie ! " 

"  Oh,  don't  rub  it  in  so.  Good  Lord,  I  wish  I  were 
out  of  it !    I'm  sorry  for  her " 

"  Don't  whine.     You've  given  her  a  blow  just  as 


33  THE  IMMORTAL  GYMNASTS 

brutal  as  if  you  had  struck  her  in  the  face.     Make  her 
understand " 

"  But  I  can't ! "  exclaimed  the  desperate  Ambry. 
"  Haven't  I  told  you  I've  tried?  For  the  last  two  weeks 
I've  neglected  her,  broken  engagements,  lied  to  her, 
said  I  was  going  to  Appleton,  stayed  and  talked  to  her 
sister  at  Hurlingham — quite  a  different  kind  of  girl, 
Estelle,  tall  and  well  set  up.  She  had  a  ripping  sort  of 
hat  on  with  wheat  ears  all  over  it " 

"  Drop  Estelle  for  heaven's  sake.  What  has  she 
got  to  do  with  it  ?  "  inquired  Varian  savagely. 

"  As  I  am  trying  to  tell  you,  seeing  Anie  won't  help 
matters  at  all.  When  she  sees  me — oh,  well,  I  feel  like 
a  cad  saying  it,  but  she's  so  fond  of  me,  she  simply 
doesn't  see  the  real  me  at  all.  She  looks  at  you  so 
with  those  eyes  of  hers,  twiddling  her  little  fingers  on 
your  arm,  that,  in  spite  of  it  all,  you  try  to  play  up  to 
what  she  expects — I  don't  say  she  isn't  sweet — so  you 
funk  what  you  were  going  to  say,  and  the  whole  deuced 
business  is  still  hanging  around  your  neck,  choking 
every  bit  of  pleasure  in  life  out  of  you.  I  can't  face  it 
again.  What's  the  use?  I'm  not  lying  to  you.  Can't 
you  see  it  only  makes  it  harder  for  her?  .  .  .  It's  eleven 
o'clock  now,  by  Jove,  and  I  must  look  in  on  my  old 
man  before  twelve.     Will  you  lunch  with  me  ?  " 

"  No ! " 

Ambry  got  between  the  door  and  Varian  who  had 
picked  up  his  hat  and  stick. 

"  One  minute,  I  say,"  pleaded  Ambry. 

Varian  stopped,  a  little  pale.  "  I  don't  think  I  want 
to  talk  about  it  any  more.  You  shuffle  so  unspeakably. 
Why  did  you  tell  me  all  this?    What  have  you  in  the 


THE  IMMORTAL  GYMNASTS  33 

back  of  your  mind  that  concerns  me  ?  Why  am  I  dragged 
in  at  all?" 

Ambry  ran  his  hands  desperately  over  his  sleek  head. 

"  You'll  shriek,  I  suppose.  Varian,  you  meet  her. 
You  go  to  Gordon  Square.  You  know  us  both.  She'll 
believe  you  when  you  tell  her  I'm  no  good." 

"  You  must  be  mad,"  retorted  Varian.  "  She'd  very 
properly  refuse  to  see  me." 

"  Good  heavens,  if  you  only  would  go !  It  could  be 
managed  perfectly.  You  ask  for  Fraulein  Detmold,  and 
the  slavey  takes  you  up  to  the  sitting-room.  You  don't 
give  your  name  or  card.  The  girl  has  been  told  a  young 
gentleman  is  expected.  You  probably  won't  lay  eyes 
on  anyone  but  Anie." 

Varian  was  looking  straight  at  Ambry,  but  he  did 
not  see  him.  He  was  gazing  at  the  shadowy  figure  of 
a  little  girl  in  a  white  frock,  a  cloud  of  hair  shading 
her  soft  eyes,  who  appeared  to  come  sidling  up  to  Am- 
bry, her  pretty  head  on  a  level  with  his  elbow,  her  tiny, 
reedlike  fingers  groping  timidly  and  uncertainly  for  his 
unconscious  hand.  But  surely  there  was  something  else 
there  too?  Something  that  resolved  itself  into  two, 
greyish,  smokelike  figures,  floating  in  an  enveloping  at- 
mosphere of  their  own.  What  tricks  the  morning  sun 
could  play  with  overstrained  eyes,  filtering  in  through 
the  striped  awning,  over  the  flowers  in  the  window-box, 
deepening  the  brownish  gold  shadows  that  hung  about 
the  old-fashioned  desk  with  the  rows  of  books  atop! 
Somewhere  in  these  shadows,  appearing  and  disappear- 
ing, darkening  and  brightening  to  Varian's  astonished 
gaze,  hover  these  smokelike,  gre}rish  figures,  one  on  either 
side  of  the  childish  Anie,  like  mysterious  supporters  on 


34  THE  IMMORTAL  GYMNASTS 

some  shield  of  arms.  One  seems  to  be  a  woman,  fair 
and  simple  and  young,  and  the  colours  she  wears  are 
blue  and  white  and  gold,  melting  and  mingling,  darken- 
ing and  brightening,  wrapping  her  about  as  with  an 
airy,  unsubstantial  cloud-mantle.  The  man,  her  com- 
panion, tall  and  slim  and  dark  and  fine,  in  that  curious, 
close-fitting  costume,  outlined  in  diamond  shapes,  ap- 
pears to  be  strangely  armed  with  a  kind  of  sword  or 
wooden  lathe.  .  .  .  Why — Varian  shut  his  eyes  a 
moment. 

"  Whisky  ?  "  asked  Ambry,  putting  a  glass  in  his 
hand.  "What  on  earth's  the  matter  with  you?  Do 
your  eyes  hurt  ?  " 

"  Oh,  no ;  at  least  not  more  than  usual.  It  is  that 
confounded  encyclopaedia.  Take  this  whisky,  will  you? 
I  never  drink  before  lunch." 

Ambry  miserably  set  the  glass  on  the  table  beside 
the  siphon  and  the  big  silver  cigarette  box.  He  was 
afraid  to  hint  Gordon  Square  again,  and  yet  he  was 
dimly  conscious  that  in  the  last  few  moments  some- 
thing had  occurred  to  change  Varian's  attitude,  to  make 
him  willing  to  see  Anie.    Lord,  if  he  only  would ! 

"  What's  the  number?  "  demanded  Varian,  without 
looking  at  him. 

"  Forty-one,"  replied  Ambry  eagerly,  fixing  Varian 
with  that  boyish,  troubled,  impelling  gaze  that  had 
served  him  so  excellently  in  previous  crises  of  his  senti- 
mental career.  "  If  you  go,  I  shall  never  forget  it  as 
long  as  I  live.  I  shall  stick  here  all  day  waiting  for 
you." 

"  Oh,  don't  wait,  I  may  not  come  back.  I  must  do 
it  my  own  way.     I  don't  promise  to  go  at  all,  but,  if 


THE  IMMORTAL  GYMNASTS  35 

I  do,  it  certainly  won't  be  on  your  account,  but  on 
hers." 

"  Of  course,  dear  old  chap.  But  couldn't  you  send 
me  a  wire  ?  * 

"  No.  This  isn't  a  Stock  Exchange  affair.  You  are 
impossible.    You  set  my  teeth  on  edge." 

"  I  know  it,"  said  Ambry  disarmingly. 

"  Forty-one,"  repeated  Varian,  pulling  open  the  door 
quickly,  as  Ambry's  servant  knocked,  carrying  his 
master's  hat  and  stick. 


CHAPTER  THREE 

WHEN  Varian  reached  the  street,  he  hailed  a 
passing  taxi  in  order  to  avoid  seeing  Ambry 
again  should  he  follow  him  out.  He  had 
mechanically  given  his  own  address,  but  before  they 
had  crossed  Ebury  Street,  he  shouted  Gordon  Square 
through  the  speaking-tube,  feeling  that  to  go  and  look 
at  the  outside  of  the  house,  to  fix  it  in  his  mind  as  a 
cemented  brick  entity,  would  make  it  more  possible  for 
him  to  present  himself,  some  three  hours  later  at  this 
door,  so  infamously  differentiated,  so  damnably  set  apart 
from  its  fellows,  the  innocent  constructions  of  a  row, 
by  the  forty-and-one  marked  under  its  fanlight. 

The  morning  was  already  too  broken  into  to  serve 
for  working  purposes,  and  he  was  too  nervously  con- 
scious of  a  certain  exaltation  in  himself  to  make  it 
possible  to  master  his  impatience  in  the  tranquil  sur- 
roundings of  his  familiar  quiet  room,  with  his  paper 
slips,  his  stands  and  tables  of  reference  books — the 
paraphernalia  of  a  studious  and  orderly,  if  as  yet  boy- 
ishly self-conscious  mind.  At  this  moment  he  had  never 
felt  less  representatively  studious  and  orderly,  less  like 
himself  in  his  everyday  habit.  His  heart  was  pounding, 
and  his  eyes  hurt.  He  was  beginning  to  recall,  in  a  gush 
of  tenderness,  the  Anie  he  knew  best,  the  child,  and 
the  thin  young  girl,  just  letting  down  her  dresses  and 
knotting  up  her  hair — the  sensitive,  timid,  and  imagina- 
tive Anie,  to  whom,  during  their  last  holiday  together 
at  Crops  before  he  went  up  to  Oxford,  he  had  opened 

36 


THE  IMMORTAL  GYMNASTS  S7 

his  boy's  heart,  with  all  its  plans,  its  ambitions,  and  its 
proud  little  secrets.  With  what  sweetness  and  charm 
she  had  thrilled  to  all  he  told  her,  longing  to  be  a  boy 
and  to  go  to  Oxford  with  him,  begging  him  to  write 
to  her.  He  had,  and  she  had  answered,  but  his  work 
absorbed  him  more  and  more,  and  Anie  was  presently 
being  unblushingly  exhibited  (holding  her  eyes  for 
shame  one  might  suppose),  by  an  anxious  and  worldly 
mother  from  one  end  of  London  to  the  other.  .  .  .  Now 
Estelle  had  come  on,  and  he  supposed  Lady  Cassock 
to  be  bending  her  energies  in  that  direction,  desperately 
nerved  to  a  campaign  of  triumph  by  what  she  would 
call  the  miserable  failure  of  her  elder  daughter.  That 
poor  child,  left  to  herself,  innocent,  caressing,  vague, 
had  clutched  at  Ambry,  with  all  her  soul  in  her  eyes, 
and  that  radiant,  healthy,  and  beautiful  person  was  at 
this  very  moment  engaged  in  shaking  her  off.  No,  not 
Ambry,  but  Varian  himself,  doing  his  filthy  work  for 
him.     By  Jove! 

Varian  had  his  hand  on  the  speaking-tube,  "  Wilton 
Place  "  forming  on  his  lips.  Then  he  remembered  the 
extraordinary  impression  he  had  received  in  Ambry's 
rooms  that  very  morning — the  trick  of  light  that  had 
seemed  to  project  her  shadowy  little  figure  before  him. 
No,  he  must  do  it.  His  hands  were  those  of  friendship. 
She  would  take  it  from  him  that  Ambry  must  never 
touch  her  again. 

The  taxi  snorted  its  way  into  the  green  harbour  of 
the  square,  trailed  by  a  bluish  fume  of  petrol. 

"Whereto,  sir?" 

"  Drive  around  slowly,  will  you  ?  I  simply  wish  to 
make  sure  of  a  number." 


THE  IMMORTAL  GYMNASTS 


So  around  they  went,  Varian  perceiving  that  this 
neighborhood  was  manifestly  a  brooding  mother  to  the 
international  boarding-house.  One  after  another  they 
affronted  his  eye,  with  their  becurtained  and  belooped 
windows,  their  shining  brass  bells  and  knockers,  their 
fallacious  air  of  welcoming  brightness.  Oh,  poor  Anie ! 
Surely  never  here  could  her  desperate  little  romance 
have  flowered ! 

"  Thirty-eight — thirty-nine — forty " 

Varian  leaned  forward  to  make  quite  sure.  No,  thank 
heaven,  forty-one  was  not  a  boarding-house.  Forty-one 
stood  out  from  its  smartened  fellows  by  reason  of  its 
sober,  self-respecting  dinginess,  its  dull  paint,  its 
shrouded  and  shuttered  windows.  Here  were  discreet 
lodgments  evidently,  quiet  and  respectable — exactly  the 
refuge  for  an  elderly  spinster  who  had  put  by  a  little 
money.  It  would  be  sufficiently  cool  and  dim  within, 
Varian  thought,  imaginatively  sure  of  the  long,  high, 
narrow  room  into  which  he  would  presently  be  shown. 

He  dismissed  the  taxi,  striking  out  at  random  along 
a  dull,  empty,  sunny  street,  feeling  that  he  could  ar- 
range his  thoughts  better,  master  a  certain  rising  excite- 
ment, were  he  on  his  legs.  He  would  walk  for  an  hour, 
lunch  somewhere,  vagrantly,  simply,  in  half  an  hour, 
and  present  himself  in  Gordon  Square  on  the  stroke  of 
two.  He  found  himself  wondering,  with  a  half-amused, 
half-angry  soreness  at  the  golden  youth's  habitual  in- 
consequence, whether  Ambry  had  been  equally  prompt  in 
those  two  acknowledged  meetings  in  this  house.  .  .  . 
What  infamy  !  He  mustn't  think  of  it  in  that  way. 
He  must  remember  Anie.  She  was  his  clue  of  thread 
in  this  amazing  maze. 


THE  IMMORTAL  GYMNASTS  39 

The  street  he  followed  grew  gradually  noisier  and 
narrower,  degenerating  at  last  into  a  mere  alley.  You 
picked  your  way  between  dogs  and  children — poor, 
screaming  pigmies,  tousled  and  imperfectly  clothed, 
who  fought  one  another  with  sticks,  with  empty  tins, 
with  bones  wrested  from  the  howling  dogs. 

Varian,  becoming  suddenly  aware  of  this  pande- 
monium breaking  in  on  his  uneasy  thoughts,  turned  off 
in  the  direction  of  Oxford  Street,  the  tops  of  the  peopled 
buses,  the  waving  banners  of  the  sandwichmen,  the  bril- 
liant and  fantastic  shop  advertisements,  together  with 
a  bellowing  boom  of  traffic,  announcing  the  proximity 
of  that  energetic  thoroughfare.  Before  he  reached  it, 
however,  he  had  an  odd  little  experience  that  sent  his 
mind  back  on  the  track  of  the  unknown,  back  to  the 
tortuous,  lost  paths  of  the  subconscious  on  which  his 
hesitating  feet  had  been  set  for  an  instant  that  morning. 
He  had  called  it  a  trick  of  light  to  himself,  shuffling 
thus  with  his  better  judgment,  knowing  quite  well  all 
the  time  that  what  he  had  seen — the  vision  of  Anie 
as  a  child,  with  those  two  cloudy  guardian  figures — 
was  not  to  be  explained  by  any  ordinary  scientific 
formula. 

Here,  in  this  eddy  of  the  London  current,  where 
Berners  Street  sets  strongly  into  Oxford  Street,  Varian 
stopped  to  light  a  cigarette — a  simple  enough  perform- 
ance, even  in  the  wind,  if  you  happen  to  have  a  match, 
but  well-nigh  impossible  without  that  tiny  yellow  or 
blue-tipped,  wooden  or  waxen  wand  of  civilization.  The 
cigarette  between  his  lips,  gloves  and  stick  grasped  inr 
one  hand,  while  the  other  furiously  searched  the  network 
of  pockets   the   modern   man  bears   upon   his  person, 


40  THE  IMMORTAL  GYMNASTS 

Varian  was  an  object  of  sympathy  to  any  fellow-devotee, 
whether  he  were  the  passing  individual  whom  you  might 
meet  any  day  at  the  club,  or  this  sandwichman  who 
smilingly  regarded  him,  his  board  propped  up  against 
a  railing,  at  the  moment  of  his  noontime  rest.  Drawing 
luxuriously  upon  his  pipe,  he  held  out  on  the  palm  of 
too  clean,  too  well-shaped  a  hand  to  be  quite  in  char- 
acter, the  tiny,  magic  box  of  vestas. 

Varian's  glance  first  caught  the  hand  and  its  offering, 
then  took  in  with  the  frank,  wide-open  stare  of  curiosity 
the  grotesque  figure  to  which  they  belonged — the  tall, 
thin,  supple  body,  draped  in  who  can  describe  what 
absurdity  of  bath-towelling,  the  thin,  dark  face,  with 
the  kind,  weary  eyes,  surmounted  by  the  Turkish  fez, 
the  sign  of  the  great  new  bath  establishment  thus 
screaming  its  birth  across  half  London. 

"  Thank  you  so  much,"  said  Varian,  as,  striking  a 
light,  he  returned  the  box  to  its  owner. 

He  lingered  a  moment,  uncommonly  attracted  by 
something  in  the  demeanour  of  the  towel  man.  .  .  . 
Why,  he  seemed  to  know  him.  It  couldn't  be  some 
chap  who —  ?  Oh,  no,  they  never  got  quite  to  that.  .  .  . 
But  where  had  he  seen  him,  or  rather  what  did  he 
recall?  .  .  .  Varian  reddened  to  find  himself  at  gaze 
in  front  of  the  man,  and  walked  on,  with  a  salute  for 
his  courtesy.  ...  It  was  the  extraordinary  length  and 
slimness  of  the  fellow — ah,  he  had  it.  He  seemed  to 
see  him  in  tights,  barred  and  disked  and  ringed  and 
glittering  like  a  snake.  .  .  .  By  Jove,  the  figure  sup- 
porting that  vision  of  Anie!  Oh,  this  was  too  much! 
He  was  dreaming  resemblances — everything  to-day 
seemed  caught  in  the  web  of  his  own  particular  prob- 


THE  IMMORTAL  GYMNASTS  41 

lcms.  It  was  because  he  had  had  no  lunch.  He  needed 
a  drink. 

Pulling  out  his  watch  to  see  how  much  time  he  could 
allow  himself,  Varian  made  his  way  to  a  small  chop- 
house  in  the  vicinity,  securing  to  himself,  with  some  diffi- 
culty, a  microscopic  table  half-hidden  behind  the  door, 
for  at  this  hour  the  place  was  filled  with  young  clerks, 
lunching  voraciously  and  at  extreme  speed.  The  noise 
of  voices,  of  dishes,  of  hurried  steps  up  and  down  the 
narrow  gangways,  the  confusion  that  seemed  to  hang 
as  something  palpable  in  the  air,  mingled  with  the 
hearty,  heady  British  odour  of  hot  roast,  assaulted 
Varian's  senses  like  a  barbaric  army.  Oddly  enough, 
what  would  have  fatigued  and  enraged  his  almost  femi- 
nine fastidiousness  at  a  more  normal  moment  now 
distracted  and  steadied  him.  He  was  glad  to  feel 
himself  as  much  a  part  of  these  healthy,  feeding  young- 
sters as  his  retired  seat  at  his  little  table  could  make 
him. 

With  intense  relief,  while  waiting  for  his  whisky  and 
grilled  chop,  he  slid  away  from  41  Gordon  Square,  and 
its  torturing  implications,  regarding  with  a  facile 
amusement  born  of  relaxed  nerves  the  young  man  with 
the  magenta  tie  and  the  enormous  striped  cuffs  who 
was  chaffing  the  stout,  tired  waitress.  But  Varian's 
respite  was  short;  the  place  emptied  itself  as  the  time 
wore  on  toward  two.  A  redoubled  clatter  announced 
the  clearing  of  the  tables.  Before  they  would  be  set 
again  for  tea,  he  whimsically  mused,  this  ordeal  of  his 
would  be  over.  Would  his  inner  pity  and  soreness  be 
soothed  and  stroked  and  cooled  by  anything  that  poor 
Anie  could  give  him?  .    .   .  How  was  he  to  carry  on  his 


42  THE  IMMORTAL  GYMNASTS 

life,  how  could  he  work  with  this  strange  inversion  of 
all  his  customary  thoughts  and  feelings?  .  .  .  Anie — 
Anie.  If  he  didn't  love  her,  what  did  it  mean?  What 
wand  had  touched  him,  unsealing  this  hidden  fountain 
that  was  flooding  all  his  being  with  waters  not  yet 
blessedly  crystal-pure  and  sweet,  but  turbid  and  heated 
and  brackish?  .  .  .  That  fellow  who  had  given  him  the 
match — there  was  something  odd  there,  something  in 
the  man's  look,  in  the  touch  of  his  hand.  "  Good  Lord, 
what  a  day  to  live  through !  "  groaned  Varian  to  himself, 
paying  for  his  chop  and  his  drink  and  for  the  box  of 
matches  that  the  stout,  flushed,  tired  waitress  had  pro- 
cured for  him. 

Ten  minutes  later  he  ran  up  the  whitened  steps  of 
No.  41,  and  rang  the  bell.  He  set  his  teeth  nervously ; 
he  was  quite  young,  and  these  preliminaries  were  the 
devil.  When  he  saw  her,  the  magic  carpet,  he  knew, 
would  unroll  between  them  upon  which  their  feet  could 
rest  in  mutual  confidence.  But  the  door  was  opening. 
Ambrey's  slavey  turned  out  to  be  a  neat  German  maid 
who  stood  back  in  the  box  of  a  lobby  for  him  to  pass 
her  into  the  hall  that  was  clean  and  damply  cool  with 
its  paving  of  black-and-white  squares.  The  stairs, 
curving  slightly  in  not  a  bad  line,  were  furnished  with  a 
slender,  mahogany  handrail.  Up  the  wall  to  your  right 
as  you  mounted  was  hung  a  suite  of  small  wood-engrav- 
ings in  modest,  black  frames,  representing  eighteenth- 
century  views  of  the  palaces  and  gardens  of  Potsdam 
and  Sans-Souci. 

The  maid  knocked  at  a  door  at  the  head  of  the 
stairs,  and  then  disappeared  down  the  passage.  Varian 
waited  an  instant,  but  on  hearing  nothing  from  within, 


THE  IMMORTAL  GYMNASTS  43 

opened  the  door  and  entered  the  room.  It  was  empty. 
He  was  conscious  at  once  of  a  faintish  odour  of  the 
encaustic  preparation  with  which  the  wooden  floor 
had  been  rubbed,  mingled  with  a  certain  disconcerting 
melange  of  lavender  and  vanilla — doubtless  some  strange 
old  sachet  of  the  ancient  maiden  Detmold.  The  room 
was  high  and  long,  narrow  and  dim  as  he  had  fore- 
seen. From  the  door  you  faced  a  flat,  imitation  black 
marble  mantelpiece,  with  an  old-fashioned  firescreen 
of  worked  woollen  tapestry  that  had  been  thrust 
back  into  the  blank  aperture  formed  by  the  empty 
grate.  The  large,  old  mirror  above,  sparsely  bound 
in  lifeless  gilt,  seemed  fitted  to  reflect  in  its  tarnished 
glass  only  the  worn,  the  sad,  the  hopeless,  the  dis- 
illusioned. It  held  no  answering  gleams  for  roses  or 
young  love.  .    .    . 

But  Anie?  He  waited.  No  sound  in  all  the  silent 
house.  Would  she  come  through  that  door  from  the 
hall?  Where  was  she  waiting?  Could  the  maid  have 
said  that  she  did  not  recognize  the  young  gentleman? 
Varian  turned  cold,  and  then  prickingly  hot,  swinging 
around  on  his  heel  to  front  the  large  folding-doors, 
opposite  the  windows,  that  had  been  pulled  back  just 
far  enough  to  admit  the  childish  figure  of  Anie,  with 
her  little,  white  face,  the  thick  hair  tumbled  on  the 
white  brow — face  and  brow  whiter,  the  great  eyes  larger 
and  wilder  and  deeper  by  reason  of  the  tight  black 
riding-habit  that  she  wore. 

"  Ah-h,"  broke  from  her  in  a  strained  little  catching 
whisper,  as  their  gaze  hung  together  across  the  quiet 
room. 

Varian  fought  down  a  nervous  spasm  that  threatened 


44  THE  IMMORTAL  GYMNASTS 

to  interfere  with  his  voice,  laid  his  hat  and  stick  on  a 
table,  and  went  toward  her,  walking  quickly. 

"  Sit  down  here  on  the  sofa,  won't  you,  Anie?  " 

She  followed  him  to  it  passively,  feet  dragging,  the 
little  figure  shrinking  into  itself.  She  began  to  speak 
at  once,  without  looking  at  him. 

"  Of  course  you  have  seen  Ambry.  How  could  you 
be  here,  if  you  hadn't?  He  has  told  you  about  me? 
He  knows  you — but  I  never  knew."  She  made  a  pause 
to  catch  her  breath.  Varian  felt  the  edge  of  the  sofa 
with  his  hands.     The  voice  trailed  on. 

"  He  cannot  come  to-day?  He — he  isn't — ill,  is  he?  " 
Then  she  looked  at  him.  Spurred  by  the  miserable  long- 
ing in  her  face,  Varian  plunged. 

"  He  cannot  come  to-day.  He  never  will  come 
again." 

The  hideous  question  sprang  up  in  her  poor,  drowned 
eyes. 

"Dead?" 

"  No,  no,  good  heavens,  no !  You  misunderstand  me. 
He  is  in  excellent  health.  He  is  at  this  very  moment 
in  Wilton  Place,  not  at  Appleton,  as  he  told  you  he 
would  be.  He  gave  me  to  understand  that  he  had  lied 
to  you  repeatedly,  that  he  had  broken  engagements,  that 
he  was  absolutely  not  to  be  depended  upon " 

"  Yes,  yes,  yes,  that  is  true."  She  turned  from  him, 
so  as  to  hide  her  face.    Varian  went  on. 

"  I  didn't  come  here  to  call  him  the  miserable  hound 
that  he  is — no,  wait,  hear  me  out — Anie!  You  must 
believe  that  whatever  comes  of  this  day,  I  have  tried 
to  do  what  seems  to  be  my  plain  duty  to  you,  to  you, 
my  little,  old  pal  of  those  days  at  Crops." 


THE  IMMORTAL  GYMNASTS  45 

No  answer.    He  forced  himself  to  go  on. 

"  I  knew  Ambry  at  Oxford.  He  went  down  before 
I  did,  but  we  ran  across  each  other  last  year.  He  has 
a  personality  that — well,  you  are  attracted.  I've  never 
met  his  people,  nor  he  mine.  He  did  not  know  till  to-day 
that  mother  and  Aunt  Etta  are  sisters.  He  never 
dreamed  that  we  were  friends.  I  met  him  this  morning 
at  his  rooms  in  answer  to  a  wire.  He  was  greatly  upset. 
He  had  had  a  letter " 

Anie  interrupted  him. 

"  I  know.  It  was  mine.  When  I  wrote  it,  Varian, 
last  night,  all  alone  in  the  house,  I  felt  so  ill.  I  wished 
to  be  ill.  Was  it  so  weak,  so  childish,  was  I  without 
pride  to  want  to  see  him  once  more?  Oh,  I  can  tell  it 
to  you.  I  knew  that  he  was  tired  of  me,  that  he  wished 
to  get  away.  But  there  was  just  one  chance  that  I 
might  be  mistaken,  and  that  if  we  met  here,  where  it  is 
so  quiet  and  still,  and  where  time  seems  to  run  back- 
ward— oh,  I  can't  tell  you  what  I  hoped.  He  came 
here  when  he  said  he  loved  me — for  he  did  love  me  for 
those  few  weeks."     Varian  winced  at  her  tone. 

"  You  met  him  here — often?  " 

"  Only  twice,  oh,  for  but  half  an  hour,  but  how  each 
minute  sang!  We  sat  here  on  this  sofa.  We  did  not 
even  touch  each  other.  He  would  not,  he  said,  because 
I  was  here  alone.  But  I  was  alone  at  the  Lynes,  and 
he  kissed  me  then.  Perhaps  I  was  beginning  to  tire 
him " 

"  Don't  speak  of  it  in  that  way,"  broke  out  Varian. 
"  It  drives  me  wild.    To  tire  him !    Good  Lord  !  " 

"  You  said  yourself  that  he  has  a  personality  that 
attracts.    There  must  be  so  many  who  are  charmed  with 


46  THE  IMMORTAL  GYMNASTS 

him.  Is  it  odd  that  certain — eocigeantes  are  pushed 
aside?  "  She  had  spoken  calmly  enough,  but  now  her 
voice  rose  slightly  and  her  fingers  twisted  together  in 
her  lap. 

"  Varian,  there  is  something  else.  He  has  met  Estelle. 
She  admires  him.  She  speaks  about  him.  Mamma  has 
noticed  it.  If  he  comes  to  the  house,  if  I  must  see  and 
talk  to  him,  en  famille,  I  shall  lose  control  of  myself. 
I  know  it,  Varian.  Is  it  not  too  much  to  expect  of  me? 
Would  he  be  so  brutal  as  that?  I  could  not!  I  could 
not!" 

"Leave  all  that  to  me,"  answered  Varian  grimly.  "He 
has  put  himself  in  my  hands  to  a  certain  extent.  For 
your  sake,  not  for  his,  I  came  here  to-day. — There  was 
something  queer  about  that,  too.  I'll  explain  it  to  you 
some  time,  but  not  now.  Imagine  my  disgust,  and  my 
rage  at  him,  when,  after  telling  me  your  story  and  his 
as  something  that  concerned  Dick  Halsey,  he  suddenly 
let  slip  your  name,  and  with  it  the  whole  unhappy  busi- 
ness !  Anie,  those  long  mornings  at  Crops  came  over 
me  in  a  flood.  My  little  pal  had  put  her  heart  in  such 
a  pair  of  hands !  There  he  sat,  with  your  letter,  calmly 
telling  me " 

"  Yes,  what  did  he  say  ? "  broke  in  Anie  eagerly. 
"  Do  you  remember  it  word  for  word  ?  If  I  could  hear 
it,  not  from  his  lips,  but  from  yours,  because  you  are 
so  different,  it  might  burn  away  this  horrible  spot  of 
decay  in  my  heart  that  makes  me  love  him.  If  you 
tell  me,  Varian,  I  don't  think  I  shall  mind  the  pain 
so. — O  Ambry,  Ambry,  what  have  you  done  to  me?  " 

Varian,  white  as  the  girl,  put  an  unsteady  arm  about 
the  thin,  shaking  young  shoulders. 


THE  IMMORTAL  GYMNASTS  47 

"  Good  God,  what  a  beast !  He  takes  you  up,  and 
tries  to  break  you,  and  then  tires  of  the  sport.  Listen 
to  me.  Whatever  he  felt  for  you  has  gone  out,  flickered 
out,  dried  up,  choked  by  his  selfishness.  You  are  so 
far  above  and  beyond  him — your  goodness,  your  gentle- 
ness— he  says  so  himself,  that  he  can't  keep  up.  He'll 
never  see  you  again,  if  he  can  help  it.  There  you  have 
him  in  his  simple  brutality." 

The  convulsive  sobs  had  ceased.  She  lay  against 
him  exhausted. 

"  Oh,  it  hurts  so!  How  can  I  tell  you?  What  will 
you  think  of  me,  if  I  say  that  the  thought  of  him — his 
eyes,  his  hands,  his  hair,  the  way  he  walks,  the  sound 
of  his  voice " 

She  lifted  herself  and  drew  away  from  Varian, 
pressing  back  against  the  sofa.  "  It  stabs  me  so  here, 
and  here  " — she  pointed  to?  her  breast  and  to  her  head, 
"  that  I  am  sick,  oh,  sick  with  it."  Her  eyes  miserably 
searched  his  for  some  relief.  He  could  give  her  none. 
He  looked  at  the  floor.  It  was  bare,  with  a  small  green 
rug  in  the  centre,  near  the  table.  He  smelt  again  the 
mixture  of  encaustic,  of  lavender,  of  vanilla. 

"  It's  a  hideous  mess,  you  poor  child,"  he  took  her 
small,  cold  hand  in  his.  "  But  what  can  we  do?  The 
memory  of  him  makes  you  suffer  as  if  you  had  some 
horrible  malady — and  I  am  like  a  bungler  with  a  knife, 
who  can  only  torture  you,  but  who  cannot  cut  out  the 
cancer.  You  are  the  only  one  who  can  do  that. 
We  must  wait.  I  must  think.  You  trust  me,  don't 
you?" 

She  nodded  her  head.    "  Oh,  yes,  yes." 

He  went  on,  half  speaking  to  himself.    "  You  haven't 


THE  IMMORTAL  GYMNASTS 


a  chance  to  fight  for  your  life  in  Belgrave  Square. 
Aunt  Etta  and  Estelle,  with  their  chatter  of  whom  one 
must  meet  and  whom  one  mustn't,  would  simply  be  your 
executioners.  Oh,  I  remember  Aunt  Etta  of  old.  She's 
as  hard  and  polished  as  a  piece  of  metal.  You  break 
yourself  and  your  idealism  upon  that  steel-like  shell. 
You  and  I  never  made  a  breach  there,  Anie.  She  had 
enough  of  me  that  last  holiday.  She  said  I  gave  you 
notions.     I  tried  to,  I  confess." 

Anie  barely  lifted  her  heavy  eyes,  but  the  tears  were 
over. 

"  You  were  the  only  friend  I  ever  had.  You  will 
never  know  what  it  meant  to  me  to  have  you  come 
down  to  us.  I  was  so  wretched  and  fidgety.  Once  I 
took  from  mamma's  desk  the  letter  you  sent,  saying 
when  you  would  leave  school,  and  I  wore  it  for  days 
pinned  inside  my  frock." 

"  Oh,  what  sweetness !  Why  did  you  never  tell  me?  " 
He  felt  an  angel  troubling  the  hidden  waters;  he  felt 
the  nightmare  oppression  of  the  last  few  hours  flowing 
and  melting  under  the  sweep  of  its  wing. 

"  I  would  have  been  so  ashamed  to,"  she  said. 

Varian  saw  that,  from  very  exhaustion,  she  had  ceased 
for  the  moment  to  think  of  Ambry.  She  half  lay  upon 
the  sofa,  looking  at  the  floor.  As  he  sat  beside  her  he 
noticed  the  relaxed,  pathetic  curve  of  her  waist  in  the 
straitly-buttoned  habit,  the  tiny  wrists  that  protruded 
limply  from  the  line  of  white  cuff  pinned  into  the  black 
cloth  sleeves.  Ah,  if  she  had  come  here  to  meet — him, 
instead  of  Ambry.  How  the  dim  room  would  have  been 
rayed  about  with  light,  how  the  pale  mirror  would  have 
gleamed  with  it!    But  now?    He  must  think  how  best 


THE  IMMORTAL  GYMNASTS  49 

to  save  this  poor,  racked,  little  Prisoner  of  Passion — 
to  save  her  from  herself.  He  went  no  further  just 
then. 

"  Anie,  would  you  go  to  mother?  " 

"  Your  mother?  But  I  scarcely  know  her,  Varian. 
She  seems  always  to  have  been  in  Rome.  I  thought  the 
place  at  Layton-Deacon  was  let  ?  " 

"  It  is.  We  haven't  been  in  Dorset  for  five  years. 
But  since  I  have  had  rooms  in  Cambridge  Street,  and 
mother  has  been  so  much  better,  she  has  taken  a  house 
at  Wimbledon.  It  belongs  to  Digby  Colfax,  my  old 
guardian,  and  he  lets  us  have  it  for  a  song.  It's  old 
and  square  and  has  a  good  garden  and  shrubbery.  Aunt 
Etta  must  have  told  you,  but  you  have  forgotten.  Since 
you  came  out,  we  poor  relations  have  had  no  glimpses 
of  this  young  lady —  "  He  was  working  for  the  smile 
that  he  did  not  succeed  in  drawing  to  the  red,  tremu- 
lous lips. 

"  Since  I  came  out !  I  shudder  at  the  recollection. 
My  *  hideous  failure '  in  mamma's  eyes  is  what  has 
saved  me.  Estelle  is  making  up  for  that.  Yes,  I  do 
seem  to  remember  something  about  Aunt  Gita  and 
Wimbledon.     But  what  is  your  plan,  Varian?" 

"  Oh,  simply  unformed  and  vague  as  yet,  but  the 
first  thing  to  do  is  to  get  you  away  from  Belgrave 
Square.  Mother  is  alone,  except  for  Miss  Peet-Byng,  a 
dear  old  thing  who  looks  out  for  her,  and  she  would 
jump  at  the  idea  of  having  you  with  her.  Naturally, 
she  would  never  dream  of  suggesting  it,  fancying  you 
quite  gay  and  happy.  Aunt  Etta  always  overshadowed 
and  overpowered  her,  and,  in  her  heart,  I  am  sure  she 
goes  in  terror  of  her.     Poor  petite  maman!    We  must, 


50  THE  IMMORTAL  GYMNASTS 

however,  manage  things  through  her.  It  will  be  plau- 
sible, and  only  decent,  for  her  to  come  in  to  see  Aunt 
Etta.  I  will  let  you  know  the  day.  She  is  to  meet 
you  and  to  find  you  shockingly  white.  You  will  have 
been  refusing  to  go  to  parties,  and  Aunt  Etta  will  be 
consequently  enraged.  Mother  will  beg  you  to  run 
down  to  her  for  a  few  weeks,  and  Aunt  Etta  will  be 
only  too  relieved  to  pack  you  off,  disliking,  as  you 
know  she  always  inhumanly  did,  all  languor  and  pale- 
ness. Then  mother  will  carry  you  away  to  a  big,  cool, 
shadowy,  white  room  I  know  of,  and  you  will  have  time 
to  catch  that  poor,  little,  bruised  breath  of  yours.  Will 
you  care  if  I  run  down  often  ?  " 

Anie  turned  her  face  full  to  his.  "  Will  I  care?  "  she 
echoed.  "  I  must  clutch  at  you,  Varian,  if  I  am  ever 
to  belong  to  myself  again.  You  have  given  me  here, 
to-day,  by  something  in  your  eyes  and  in  your  voice, 
the  courage  to  go  on  living,  even  with  this  hideous 
black  hole  in  my  heart  in  which  I  seem  always  to  see 
Ambry's  face — to  see  him,  to  hear  him,  to  feel  him." 
The  poor  child  trembled  all  over,  and  put  her  hands  over 
her  disfigured  face. 

"  But  you  do  wish  to  forget — the  face  and  the 
memories,"  urged  Varian  unsteadily. 

"  Oh,  yes,  yes.  It  hurts  too  much.  Most  girls 
would  be  too  proud.  But  I  am  not.  I'm  beaten  down. 
I  should  have  lain  where  he  dropped  me,  had  it  not 
been  for  you.  You  came  and  pulled  me  up."  Quite 
simply  she  leaned  over  and  kissed  his  cheek.  The  tears 
came  in  his  eyes,  and  he  let  her  see  them.  Then  they 
both  felt  better. 

"  It  must  be  horribly  late,"  exclaimed  Anie. 


THE  IMMORTAL  GYMNASTS  51 

"  Half-past  three,"  answered  Varian,  looking  at  his 
watch.     "  Where  are  you  supposed  to  be?  " 

"  Oh,  here,  of  course.  There  is  no  concealment  about 
it.  I  told  mamma  I  should  lunch  and  stay  a  bit  with 
Fraulein.  I  rode  late  on  purpose.  Dixon  came  for  the 
horse  and  put  me  in  a  taxi." 

"  What  will  you  do  now  ?  Who  will  get  you  a  cab  ? 
We  can't  go  out  together." 

"  Yes,  I  know.    Ambry  said  the  same  thing." 

Varian  ground  his  teeth  at  her  innocent  readiness  to 
ruin  her  reputation,  such  an  appanage  still  being,  in 
our  present  state  of  society,  of  incalculable  value  to  a 
marriageable  maid. 

"  Fraulein  sends  for  one,"  she  went  on.  "  It  is  quite 
simple.  You  have  been  so  good  to  me.  I  shall  sleep 
to-night." 

"  By  the  way,  Anie,  I  don't  like  this  Fraulein  Det- 
mold's  ways  and  manners.  She  ought  to  know  better 
than  you  that  what  we  are  doing  now  is  by  no  means — 
convenable,  to  put  it  mildly." 

"  I  know.  I  know.  But  she  is  an  old  dear,  and  she 
loves  me.     She  is  intensely  romantic." 

"  Thank  God  this  is  the  last  time  you  will  make  use 
of  her  house  in  this  particular  fashion.  Let  me  think. 
This  is  Thursday.  I  will  write  to  mother  at  once.  She 
will  have  the  letter  Friday  morning,  and  will  come  to 
town  in  the  afternoon.  Do  you  know  if  Aunt  Etta  is 
dining  out  ?  " 

"  One  can  always  catch  her  at  six.  She  says  she 
must  have  at  least  an  hour  in  which  to  contract  before 
beginning  to  dress  or  Marcelle  could  never  hook  her  up. 
Mamma  is  getting  so  stout.    Then  six  to-morrow.    Per- 


52  THE  IMMORTAL  GYMNASTS 

haps  Aunt  Gita  will  take  me  down  with  her  at  once. 
It  is  such  a  little  run,  and  it  would  be  so  beautiful  in 
the  dusk.    Would  you  perhaps  come  on  Saturday?  " 

Heavens,  how  sweet  she  was !  Varian  shook  himself 
mentally,  and  took  up  his  hat  and  stick. 

"  Count  on  me,"  he  said,  turning  to  the  door.  "  I 
let  myself  out,  eh?  "  She  nodded,  such  a  babyish  figure 
in  her  tight  habit,  standing  alone  in  the  centre  of  the 
strange,  unfamiliar  room. 

So  he  thought  as  he  hailed  a  taxi  from  the  doorstep, 
plunging  into  it  in  order  to  be  removed  as  quickly  as 
possible  from  the,  to  him,  haunted  neighbourhood  of 
Gordon  Square. 

In  the  relaxation  of  his  spirits,  to  make  a  little  fete 
for  himself,  as  you  give  a  strawberry-treat  to  a  par- 
ticularly good  child,  Varian  directed  the  cab  to  the 
entrance  to  St.  Martin's  Lane.  Up  the  alley,  to  the 
left,  in  a  neat  shop  that  smells  of  ancient,  dampish 
paper,  he  was  courteously  received  and  intelligently 
ministered  to.  After  an  agreeable  chat  with  the  mild 
spectacled  Guardian  of  the  Precinct,  Varian  emerged 
carrying  two  more  than  fair-sized  volumes  in  the  crook 
of  his  left  arm.  He  was  still  boyish  enough  to  be 
reluctant  to  entrust  them  for  delivery  to  the  small, 
buttoned  minion  of  the  establishment,  who  was  at  that 
moment  having  his  tea  from  a  massive  white  china  mug, 
boy  and  mug  and  bread  and  butter  discreetly  screened 
by  a  large,  dismantled  packing-box  throning  it  in  the 
distant  gloom.  One  book  was  a  rather  rare  one,  at  least 
rare  with  all  the  plates — a  history  of  the  ancient  and 
honourable  Italian  comedy,  the  Commedia  dell'  Arte — 
from  its  cloudy  birth  at  a  Dionysiac  festival  was  it? 


THE  IMMORTAL  GYMNASTS  53 

to  its  decay  at  the  end  of  the  eighteenth  century,  burn- 
ing out  with  so  much  else  that  was  full  of  distinction, 
charming,  gay,  fragile,  and  frivolous.  The  other  was 
a  study,  in  Italian,  of  an  obscure  Lombard  painter 
about  whom  it  was  now  becoming  more  and  more  the 
fashion  to  be  knowing.  And  Varian's  encyclopaedic 
editor  demanded,  above  all  things,  that  his  young  men 
should  be  that. 

In  Trafalgar  Square  Varian  attached  himself  to  the 
fleeting  rear  of  a  Victoria  bus  that  presently  deposited 
him  in  the  full  flood  of  the  station  yard,  with  the  cur- 
rent setting  strongly  toward  Suburbia.  Breasting  the 
flow,  with  his  books  clasped  to  his  breast,  Varian  suc- 
ceeded in  reaching  the  comparative  calm  of  the  Wilton 
Road.  Soon  the  waving,  rich  green  tops  of  those  tall 
forest  trees  in  Eccleston  Square,  beckoning  to  him  in 
the  light,  gold-dripping  air  of  afternoon,  proclaimed  an 
oasis  in  the  far-stretching,  monotonous  London  desert. 

Around  the  corner,  in  Cambridge  Street,  quiet,  mod- 
est, and  well-swept,  were  his  lodgings,  his  first  independ- 
ent ones,  of  which  he  was  immensely  proud,  concealing 
as  best  he  might  those  fatigued  airs  common  to  the 
domesticated  householder.  This  afternoon  he  ran  up 
the  stairs,  his  mind  full  of  the  letter  he  was  mentally 
writing  to  his  mother.  As  he  did  so,  the  little  maid-of- 
all-work  sprang  out  upon  him  on  the  landing,  as  though 
she  had  been  suddenly  released  from  a  box  at  the  end 
of  a  bit  of  elastic,  and  hissed  in  his  ear: 

"  The  young  gentleman's  been  waitin'  for  most  an 
hour." 

"  Oh,  confound  him,"  said  Varian  to  himself,  and 
"  Oh,  has  he,  Susy?  "  to  the  little  maid. 


54  THE  IMMORTAL  GYMNASTS 

Ambry,  stretched  out  in  the  long,  cane  chair,  prod- 
ding aimlessly  at  a  rug  with  his  stick,  pulled  himself 
up  at  sight  of  Varian.  The  latter  deposited  his  books 
carefully  on  the  writing-table,  making  a  place  for  them 
by  moving  an  untidy  nest  of  papers,  before  he  permitted 
himself  to  notice  the  impatient  "Well?"  that  sprang 
to  his  companion's  eyes  and  lips.  Then  he  merely  looked 
at  him. 

"  Good  heavens,  do  speak  to  a  fellow ! "  bursts  out 
Ambry.  "  I've  been  kicking  my  heels  in  this  beastly 
room  for  the  last  two  hours,  and  now  you  saunter  in, 
as  if  you'd  been  buying  books  all  the  afternoon.  Is  it 
possible  that  you  didn't  see  her  after  all?  Is  the  whole 
awful  business  to  be  gone  into  again  ?  " 

"  You  simply  make  me  sick,"  retorts  Varian.  "  Any- 
one would  suppose  you  were  the  one  who  was  being 
hounded.  Let  me  tell  you  this,  and  then  let  us  consider 
the  matter  absolutely  closed.  Anie  knows  your  frankly 
brutal  attitude  in  regard  to  herself,  and  is  strongly 
desirous  of  not  laying  eyes  on  you  again.  In  order  to 
simplify  matters,  and  because  she  is  really  ill,  she  is 
leaving  town  at  once.  I  may  as  well  tell  you  that  she 
is  going  down  to  my  mother's  at  Wimbledon." 

Varian  delivered  this  announcement  in  a  perfectly 
unemotional  tone,  and  then  with  his  hands  in  his  pockets 
minutely  regarded  a  large  and  to  him  nauseatingly  fa- 
miliar engraving  of  The  Triumph  of  Chastity. 

But  Ambry  was  not  to  be  put  off  by  anything  so 
obvious  as  this. 

"  Dear  old  chap,  look  at  me  for  a  moment,  won't 
you?  I  know  I'm  an  unspeakable  cad,  I  see  it  now, 
tiut — .     Because  you've  helped  me  out  of  this  awful 


THE  IMMORTAL  GYMNASTS  55 

mess — don't  think  I  don't  know  it's  all  the  fault  of  my 
confounded  imprudence — no,  that's  not  the  word,  but 
you  understand  what  I  mean — because  you've  saved  me 
and  saved  Anie,  too — >«  Don't  fly  up.  I  must  call  her 
something.  Well,  because  of  that,  old  chap,  you  can't 
turn  a  fellow  down  and  out.  Look  here,  Varian,  we've 
known  each  other  too  long  for  that." 

Ambry  was  right.  Very  few  people  could  resist  the 
charm  of  his  engaging  personality,  supported  so  admir- 
ably as  it  was  by  a  physique  intensely  supple,  intensely 
virile,  and  Varian,  hypersensitive  to  every  aesthetic  ap- 
peal, was  not  one  of  the  few.  So  a  hand  came,  however 
reluctantly,  out  of  one  of  those  pockets,  and  was  eagerly 
grasped  by  Ambry,  who,  having  gained  his  point,  being 
freed  at  the  same  time  from  the  haunting  incubus  of 
Gordon  Square,  was  more  than  ready  to  act  promptly 
on  his  young  friend's  weary  "  Oh,  get  out  now,  will 
you?" 


CHAPTER  FOUR 

THE  house  at  Wimbledon,  having  been  built  with 
intelligence  at  a  pleasing  architectural  period, 
was  more  than  ever,  at  this  debased  moment, 
an  agreeable  abode.  Old  Mr.  Colfax  came  of  a  family 
of  distinguished  collectors  who  had  preserved  the  laud- 
able habit  of  leaving  the  ugliest  of  their  "  pots,"  when 
they  collected  china,  the  "  finest  "  of  their  chairs,  sofas, 
and  tables,  when  they  collected  furniture,  and  the  most 
impeccably  "  pedigreed  "  of  their  canvases,  when  they 
collected  pictures,  to  London  and  provincial  museums. 
This  had  the  happy  result  for  their  descendants  that 
what  remained  in  the  old  place  really  embellished  and 
became  a  part  of  it,  not  too  fine  for  honest  household 
use,  not  so  obviously  rich  and  rare  that  you  are  dis- 
mayed to  find  yourself  unconsciously  seeking  the  small 
inscribed  tablet,  dear  to  officialdom,  in  order  to  check  up 
the  "  period." 

The  large,  square,  admirably  proportioned  rooms 
bear  distinct  marks  of  the  race  that  had  produced  them, 
that  had  wrapped  them  in  warm,  softened  tones,  that 
had  hung  that  Raeburn  just  where  the  blur  of  powdered 
hair,  the  fine  hands  crossed  on  the  white  silk  lap,  would 
count  for  the  most ;  that  had  placed  each  delicate  orna- 
ment, each  faintly  flowered  Aubusson  carpet,  in  a  spot 
of  all  others  dictated  by  right  taste. 

Mrs.  Edmonton,  though  not  herself  of  the  family, 
was  here  perfectly  in  the  picture,  sitting  in  her  cus- 

56 


THE  IMMORTAL  GYMNASTS  57 

tomary  low  chair  by  the  long  window  that  serves  as  an 
entrance  to  the  garden,  her  small,  black-slippered  feet 
on  a  tufted  hassock,  her  morning  letters,  littering  the 
floor  beside  her,  half-tumbling  out  of  the  gay  Roman 
silk  bag  that  held  her  intricate  embroidery. 

Varian  was  like  his  English  father;  this  gentle,  fa- 
tigued face  held  no  hint  of  him.  Her  dark  eyes  looked 
out  at  you  with  a  pathetic,  veiled  brilliancy,  set  far 
apart  under  the  high,  not  broad,  brow  where  the  black 
hair  began  to  show  thick  filaments  of  white,  streaming 
back  into  the  high,  loose  knot  of  her  chignon,  like  the 
pied  markings  on  the  plumes  of  certain  birds.  Her  smile 
was  still  delicious,  betraying  the  almost  girlish  nature 
that  lurked  under  this  disguising  exterior  of  the  deli- 
cate woman,  no  longer  young,  indolent,  and  a  lover  of 
the  tranquil  days  of  the  South,  where  the  warm  hours 
of  the  sun  melt  into  the  scarcely  less  warm  hours  of  the 
moon,  where  you  follow  the  shadows  from  vine-hung 
pergola  to  dusky,  tottering  pavilion,  that  still  keeps 
some  bravery  of  plaster  god  and  goddess,  now  sadly 
skinned  and  buffeted.  Oh,  the  steamy,  earthy  scents  of 
garden  mould  in  the  long  hot  afternoons ! 

With  the  love  of  all  this  in  her  Italian  blood  she 
cheerfully  relinquishes  her  Roman  home  and,  in  order 
to  be  near  her  boy,  settles  herself  in  Digby  Colfax's 
Georgian  house,  in  this  weeping  English  climate.  For 
the  little  chap  she  had  left  at  Eton,  developing  far 
from  her  all  through  his  Oxford  years,  had  become,  in 
his  young  manhood,  a  more  vital,  more  dominating,  more 
stirring  influence  in  her  existence  than  she  had  ever 
dreamed  could  be  possible,  since  that  day,  twenty  years 
before,  when,  broken,  wretched,  inwardly  bleeding,  she 


X 


58  THE  IMMORTAL  GYMNASTS 

had  watched  her  husband  die.  Now  the  new,  rosy  flame 
of  reviving  love  played  once  more  in  her  heart,  darting 
in  and  out  of  what  she  had  thought  to  be  a  heap  of 
ashes,  and  Varian — Varian  in  his  every  engaging  aspect 
of  ambitious  youth,  with  his  lodgings  in  town,  his  little 
writings,  his  encyclopaedic  and  terrifying  editor — Varian 
became  the  darling  preoccupation  of  his  mother's  iife. 
Now  she  smiled  to  feel  the  thickness  of  his  letter, 
patting  and  turning  it  in  her  long  fingers.  The  first 
lines  caught  her  attention  and  she  raced  through  it, 
letting  sheet  after  sheet  rustle  down  into  her  lap.  So 
that  poor,  pretty  Anie  wanted  to  run  away  from  un- 
happy love  (as  if  one  ever  could!),  and,  in  some  fashion 
not  clearly  brought  out,  her  boy  was  arranging  her  little 
affairs  for  her.  Well,  his  mother  would,  of  course,  do 
as  he  wished,  not  without  a  pang,  perhaps,  for  daily, 
more  and  more,  she  hugged  to  her  soul  her  indolent 
tranquillity,  sitting  or  lying  softly  with  her  embroidery, 
or  her  drawing-blocks,  on  which  she  would  sometimes 
throw  out  bizarre  decorative  designs,  infiltrations  from 
Byzantine  or  Persian  art  to  which  she  gave  an  odd, 
extremely  personal  nuance.  Her  delicate  health  was 
sufficient  bar  to  neighbourly  visiting,  and  after  a  year's 
residence  she  was  safe  enough  from  indiscriminate  de- 
mands, seeking  only  at  rare  intervals  those  persons  espe- 
cially asked  to  come.  Now  her  lazy  mornings  in  her 
cool,  shuttered  rooms,  her  long,  drowsing  afternoons 
in  the  sweet,  neglected  gardens,  under  the  beeches  and 
cedars,  were  no  longer  to  be  quite  inviolate.  Childish 
Anie,  with  a  love  affair  on  her  hands,  was  to  become 
her  housemate.  They  would  have  to  begin  acquaintance 
all  anew.     Why,  she  must  be  almost  as  old  as  Varian. 


THE  IMMORTAL  GYMNASTS  59 

It  seemed  incredible.  She  remembered  a  little  faded 
photograph  that  Varian  had  sent  her  during  his  last 
holiday  at  Crops.  He  and  Anie  were  sitting  close  to- 
gether on  a  garden  bench,  with  a  big  book  spread  out  on 
their  knees.  Estelle  had  "  snapped "  them,  doing  it 
badly,  so  that  the  negative  blurred.  Their  young  faces 
stared  out  at  you  from  the  dark,  leafy  background, 
white,  rather  startled,  and  confused.  Anie  looked 
scarcely  pretty,  with  her  disorderly  hair  and  her  thin, 
childish  legs,  but  Varian's  beauty  came  out  even  in  this 
wretched  little  attempt.  And  his  mother  could  never 
forget  the  pang  that  shot  through  her  in  looking  at  it : 
"  Oh,  my  boy  is  becoming  a  man !  I  must  go  to  him." 
But  she  did  not,  and  where  were  those  lost  years?  She 
could  never  make  them  up  now. 

She  turned  again  to  her  letter.  "  So  I  am  to  catch 
Etta  at  six,  and  beg  for  the  loan  of  Anie,  who  will  have 
paved  the  way  for  what  must  seem  to  Etta  my  extraor- 
dinary proposal,  by  refusing  parties  and  looking  ill.  I 
wonder  if  my  life  would  have  been  very  different  if 
I  had  had  a  girl?  They  certainly  seem  to  Etta  to  be 
merely  so  many  attractive  little  scented  packets  to 
barter  with.  As  I  remember  Estelle,  she  will  be  able 
to  take  care  of  herself,  but  poor,  helpless  Anie,  drifting 
heaven  knows  where,  clutches  at  Varian  with  her  burnt 
fingers,  and  I  am  to  supply  the  healing  ointment." 

She  shrugged  her  thin  shoulders,  but  with  a  smile  that 
betrayed  her  pride  and  gladness  that  her  boy  had  thrown 
himself  and  his  wounded  young  relative  upon  her,  sure 
of  the  blessed  opening  of  his  mother's  arms.  She 
would  open  them;  she  would  be  decently  unselfish;  she 
would  make  herself  the  friend  and  comforter  of  this 


60  THE  IMMORTAL  GYMNASTS 

poor  little  London  wreck ;  refitting  her,  perhaps,  through 
the  long,  peaceful,  perfumed  garden  hours  that  lay  be- 
fore them,  for  a  second,  more  prosperous  voyage. 

But  time  was  slipping,  and  she  must  prepare  for  her 
expedition.  Anie  must  have  the  large  room  in  her  own 
wing,  with  the  dressing-closet  done  in  Chinese  lacquer. 
That  might  amuse  her.  The  whole  house  was  ever 
aired  and  open*  sweet  with  morsels  of  herbs  strewn  in 
drawer  and  cupboard,  fresh  as  the  garden  breezes  could 
make  it,  floating  in  at  every  wide-set  window. 

Gita  Edmonton,  her  letters  and  her  gay  silk  em- 
broidery bag  on  her  arm,  removed  her  feet  from  the 
hassock  with  the  quaint  little  air  of  precision  that 
marked  her  movements  when  she  was  not  bored,  and 
walked  over  to  a  diminutive  table,  reared  upon  four 
disproportionately  long  and  slender  legs,  upon  which 
stood  an  ivory  bell,  carved  in  the  shape  of  a  dame  of 
the  eighteenth  century,  with  high-dressed  head  and  full 
panniers  looped  over  a  laced  petticoat.  In  answer  to  the 
little  lady's  voice,  a  young  maid,  with  a  round-cheeked, 
country  air,  entered,  and  was  told  to  fetch  Miss  Peet- 
Byng.  In  a  moment  the  desired  one  made  her  appear- 
ance, taking  small,  hurried  steps  under  a  black  skirt  that 
was  too  long  for  her,  so  that  she  held  it  up  in  front 
with  one  swollen,  rheumatic  hand.  She  was  tall  and 
thin,  flat  and  fair,  with  a  square  of  black  thread-lace 
pinned  on  her  head,  beneath  which  her  yellowish-grey 
hair  was  laid  in  meagre  bands.  Her  eyes  were  blue 
and  pale,  but  kind  and  not  unintelligent,  a  large  nose 
bespoke  generosity  of  spirit,  and,  even  if  her  poor  chin 
did  dwindle  away,  goodness  and  gentleness  rested  on  her 
lips.      She   was    once   Varian's   nursery-governess,  his 


THE  IMMORTAL  GYMNASTS  61 

cherished  "  Peetybee,"  and  since  he  outgrew  her  she 
had  been  the  faithful,  ever-ready  buffer  between  Mrs. 
Edmonton  and  that  oppressive,  hostile,  unknown,  but 
much-dreaded  region  where  servants  stalk,  household 
bills  breed  like  maggots,  and  where,  in  order  to  live, 
you  must  be  piratically  bold,  dauntless,  and  defiant — 
simply  the  world  of  every-day,  and  therefore  no  place 
at  all  for  the  soul  of  Gita  Edmonton,  though  good  Miss 
Peet-Byng  swam  as  untiringly  in  it  as  in  a  native 
element. 

"  Bee,  sit  down.  I've  had  a  letter  this  morning  that 
makes  it  necessary  for  me  to  go  up  to  town  this  after- 
noon to  bring  down  one  of  Etta's  girls,  Anie,  the  elder. 
She  is  worn  out — you  remember  what  a  pale  little  scrap 
she  always  was — and  the  garden  here  and  the  good  air 
will  set  her  up.  But  we  are  so  unused  to  guests,  you 
and  I.  Can  you  manage  it  for  me,  Bee,  so  that  our 
daily  routine  is  as  little  disarranged  as  possible?" 

Miss  Peet-Byng  raised  a  hand  in  protest,  or  was  she 
taking  a  domestic  oath? 

*  Don't,  I  pray  you,  dear  Gita,  give  yourself  one 
instant  of  anxiety.  Guest  or  no  guest,  you  will  find 
that  the  household  will  move  exactly  as  usual.  Your 
precious  hours  must  be  safeguarded,  if  I  have  to  sit  on 
your  doormat  as  a  sentinel.  But,  perhaps  it  will 
brighten  you  to  have  the  young  thing  here,  and  my 
boy  will  relish  that.  He  thinks  you  too  pale.  He  told 
me  so." 

"  Oh,  that  dear  Varian !  He  is  becoming  a  tremen- 
dous fuss  about  his  old  mother.  I  do  believe,  Bee,  that 
I  am  looking  forward  to  having  Anie.  I  really  know 
nothing    of    Etta's    girls,    and    this    one   was    always 


63  THE  IMMORTAL  GYMNASTS 

Varian's  favorite.  He  wrote  about  her  at  great  length 
in  his  letters  from  Crops.  They  read  together.  It  will 
make  it  easier  for  me  if  she  cares  for  books.  Then 
we  shall  never  be  at  a  loss  for  table-talk.  .  .  .  Now, 
what  about  her  quarters?  I  had  thought  of  the  grey 
room  in  my  wing.  She  must  have  plenty  of  air,  and 
that  one  has  three  windows.  The  white  roses  are  be- 
ginning to  hang  around  them  so  enchantingly.  Then 
the  lacquer  dressing-closet  is  one  of  the  best  things  in 
the  house,  with  its  extraordinary  little  men-monkeys. 
You  could  study  those  tiny  figures  for  hours — not  that 
I  want  the  child  to,  but  I  like  to  have  that  room  used. 
It  brings  it  to  life  again.  .   .   .  What  do  you  say?  *' 

"  A  perfect  selection,  except  for  one  thing.  Won't 
she  be  too  near  you?  You  might  hear  her  moving," 
said  Bee,  wrinkling  up  her  nose  thoughtfully. 

"  Nonsense !  I  must  change  my  habits  if  a  child's 
footfall  is  to  annoy  me.  But  you  can  hear  nothing, 
I  am  quite  sure.  The  small  passage  between  deadens 
any  sound.  Let  us  consider  that  settled.  Have  every- 
thing arranged  for  to-night.  Put  in  flowers — the  tulips, 
I  think — a  few  coppery  ones  among  the  pink.  If  the 
car  comes  around  by  five,  I  shall  have  plenty  of  time 
to  drive  slowly.  It  will  be  safer  to  have  dinner  at  8.30. 
Anie  can  bring  a  few  things  with  her  in  a  dress-basket, 
and  have  down  later  whatever  she  may  need.  Our  life 
is  so  much  of  a  perpetual  retreat  that  one  could  really 
almost  manage  with  a  couple  of  frocks." 

"  Will  she  bring  a  maid  ?  " 

"  Good  gracious,  I  had  not  thought  of  that !  No, 
I  cannot  have  a  strange  woman  poking  about  here.  If 
Anie  is  as  helpless  as  most  London  girls,  Page  can 


THE  IMMORTAL  GYMNASTS 


do  for  her.  Tell  Page  that  she  may  be  required  to  maid 
Miss  Cassock.  Dear,  good  Bee,  what  should  I  ever  do 
without  you?  You  are  certainly  the  captain  of  my 
wandering  little  barque." 

Miss  Peet-Byng's  hollow  cheeks  ran  up  the  unwonted 
signal  of  a  blush — pleasure  and  embarrassment  con- 
tending within  her. 

"  Oh,  say,  rather,  the  faithful  cabin-boy,  who  must 
be  about  his  duties  this  very  minute." 

She  got  up  nervously,  with  a  subdued,  mysterious 
rattling  as  of  keys  in  some  far-hidden,  submerged 
pocket. 

At  a  few  moments  before  six,  Mr.  Edmonton's  car 
turned  into  the  comparative  quiet  of  Belgrave  Square, 
large  and  leafy,  inundated  with  a  thick,  golden,  summer 
atmosphere,  not  more  than  moderately  polluted  with 
petrol.  Gita  eyed  the  pompous  stucco  facade  of  her 
half-sister's  abode  with  a  tired  appreciation  of  what  it 
must  mean  to  lead  a  life  that  made  such  a  setting  not 
only  appropriate  but  desirable. 

Presently  Lady  Cassock  was  begging  Mrs.  Edmonton, 
through  the  medium  of  an  unnaturally  slim  footman, 
to  come  to  her  in  her  bedroom. 

"  My  dearest  girl,  will  you  forgive  me  asking  you 
to  come  up  in  this  way,  sans  fa$on?  " 

Lady  Cassock  commenced  the  pantomime  of  one 
laboriously  rising  from  a  couch.  Gita  came  forward 
and  put  her  hands  on  her  sister's  shoulders. 

"  Don't  move,  Etta,  please.  I  can  sit  here  directly 
in  front  of  you.    How  are  you?  " 

"  Dog-tired,  of  course,  at  this  pitch  of  the  season, 
but  one  must  keep  up.     I'm  taking  Estelle  out,  you 


64  THE  IMMORTAL  GYMNASTS 

know.  She's  off  at  this  moment  to  Grove  House  with 
Lady  Juliet  to  attend  a  meeting  for  giving  something 
to  somebody.  Who  can  remember  such  things?  You 
haven't  seen  Estelle  for  years,  have  you?  She  is  con- 
sidered very  pretty,  and  is  a  comfort  to  her  mother." 

This  was  delivered  by  Lady  Cassock  in  a  manner  to 
indicate  that  there  were  such  beings  as  ungrateful  chil- 
dren who  were  not. 

Gita  saw  her  opening.  "  How  is  Anie  ?  Is  she 
visible  ?    I  would  so  much  like  to  see  her." 

Here  Lady  Cassock's  too  well-corseted  efforts  to  sit 
up  becoming  increasingly  desperate,  Gita  hurriedly 
stuffed  another  foolish  little  embroidered  pillow  behind 
her  sister,  with  about  as  much  effect  as  a  pebble  would 
have  in  damming  a  stream. 

"  I  shall  die  if  I  don't  get  out  of  this  thing !  .  .  .  Ah, 
that's  better.  I  do  believe  I  am  growing  a  bit  heavier. 
Do  you  notice  any  change,  eh  ?  " 

"  Um — m,  no,  perhaps  not,"  murmured  Gita  sooth- 
ingly. "  A  Spa  in  August  will  set  you  up,  or — down. 
That's  what  we  all  want  nowadays  with  these  impossible 
skirts,  isn't  it?    But  what  about  Anie?  " 

Etta  Cassock's  ruddy,  high-nosed,  square-jawed 
countenance  became  slightly  more  suffused  across  the 
mottled  cheek-bones,  under  the  ironlike  curves  of  rigidly 
undulated,  fairish  hair. 

"  I  am  exceedingly  vexed  with  her,"  she  answered 
with  asperity.  "  She  is  most  trying,  moping  about 
with  no  reason,  looking  like  a  wet  rag.  If  I  did  not 
know  her  so  well,  I  would  say  she  was  jealous  of 
Estelle.  She  refuses  to  go  anywhere.  I  believe  she 
still  rides,  but  never  with  her  sister  at  a  suitable  time, 


THE  IMMORTAL  GYMNASTS  65 

when  other  people  are  in  the  Row,  and  she  won't  even 
have  Dixon.  It  is  most  trying  and  stupid.  She  looks 
half-ill.  I  shall  have  to  take  her  to  Dr.  Partridge — 
but  when  have  I  the  time?  How  intensely  awkward 
were  she  to  become  ill  at  this  moment  with  something 
infectious.  There's  so  much  of  it  going  around.  Then 
where  should  we  all  be?  Quarantined  in  the  middle  of 
the  season  1 "  Etta  Cassock  moved  her  high  head  im- 
patiently, so  that  her  long,  jewelled  ear-rings  shook 
like  tiny,  flaming  tongues.  Suddenly  a  thought  struck 
her. 

"  Gita,  it  is  providential  your  coming  this  afternoon. 
Would  you  take  her  off  my  hands  for  a  month?  She 
is  no  good  here.  Would  you?  I'll  send  for  her  at 
once.  Marcelle ! "  To  the  sharp,  alert  Frenchwoman 
in  the  doorway  she  gave  the  necessary  order.  Her 
relief  in  clutching  at  Gita  was  both  frank  and  un- 
ashamed. To  get  rid  of  a  possible  germ-carrying 
daughter  was  manifestly  a  first  necessity. 

While  they  waited,  Gita  answered  at  random  numer- 
ous irrelevant  questions  about  her  life  at  Wimbledon 
that  her  sister  felt  called'  upon  to  put  to  her.  Poor 
Etta !  Such  an  existence  as  Gita  led,  within  the  thick- 
shrubbed  walls  of  her  garden,  seemed  to  her  to  indicate 
active  mental  decay.  Both  had  their  eyes  more  or  less 
on  the  door  through  which  presently  the  object  of  their 
thoughts  came  forward  with  that  light,  hesitating, 
sidling  step.  "  You  would  almost  suppose  she  limped," 
Lady  Cassock  was  in  the  habit  of  exclaiming  with 
disgust.  "  What  a  pathetic  little  bundle  of  nerves !  " 
thought  Gita  sympathetically. 

The  girl  came  to  her  and  kissed  her  with  a  soft  pres- 


66  THE  IMMORTAL  GYMNASTS 

sure,  affectionately  but  a  little  shyly,  troubled  perhaps 
at  the  innocent  conspiracy  they  were  practising  to- 
gether. 

"  What  have  you  been  doing  to  your  eyes,  may  I 
ask?  "  demanded  her  mother,  visions  of  summer-grippe, 
which  is  so  disfiguring,  you  know,  floating  through  her 
x  mind.  Then,  without  seeming  to  expect  an  answer,  she 
plunged  at  once.  "  What  do  you  say  to  going  down  to 
Wimbledon  with  your  Aunt  Gita  until  you  can  pull 
yourself  sufficiently  together  to  behave  suitably  here 
in  town?  It  is  very  awkward  to  refuse  invitations  for 
you  and  then  to  have  you  seen  about.  Juliet  Newhaven 
spoke  of  catching  sight  of  you  in  a  taxi — in  your  habit, 
she  thought.  What  on  earth  were  you  doing?  And, 
of  course,  she  couldn't  see  why  you  were  not  well  enough 
to  go  to  her  cotillion.  With  your  looks  in  their  pres- 
ent state,  you're  no  credit  to  your  mother,  I  assure 
you." 

"  I'm  sorry,  mamma.  I  have  tried  to  keep  out  of  the 
way.  If  Aunt  Gita  will  have  me,  I  would  so  love  to  stay 
with  her." 

Mrs.  Edmonton  took  the  girl's  hand.  "  I  ran  up 
to-day  with  the  half-intention  of  capturing  you  for  the 
week-end,  but  now  I  can  have  the  pleasure  of  keeping 
you  for  an  indefinite  time.  The  garden  is  lovely,  and 
we  drink  wonderful  milk.  But  why  not  take  her  down 
with  me  this  afternoon,  Etta?  I  motored  up.  Ask 
them  to  put  a  few  things  in  a  dress-basket,  Anie,  will 
you?  And  run  and  get  your  hat  and  cloak — a  warm 
one.  If  we  start  in  fifteen  minutes,  we  shall  do  it  nicely 
before  dinner.     Will  you,  dear?  " 

"  May  I,  mamma  ?  " 


THE  IMMORTAL  GYMNASTS  67 

"  Why  not?  Tell  Marcelle  to  help  you.  Oh,  by  the 
way,  leave  your  pearls  for  Estelle.  You  Won't  need 
them  at  Wimbledon.  Don't  lift  anything.  Let  Mar- 
celle do  it." 

"  It  isn't  necessary  for  her  to  bring  a  maid,  Etta. 
We  can  do  all  that  is  needful." 

"  I  did  not  intend  that  she  should  take  anyone.  The 
girls  share  a  maid,  but,  of  course,  Estelle  must  have 
her  now.  Every  night  next  week  is  engaged  three  deep. 
Mothers  must  be  made  of  steel  these  days.  It  is  fortu- 
nate you  have  only  a  boy.  How  is  Varian?  He  quite 
cuts  us." 

"  My  dear  Etta,  what  nonsense !  He  is  working 
hard,  and  neither  of  us  could  ever  keep  up  with  you, 
you  know." 

"  By  the  way,  do  you  know  Lady  Nunholme?  "  asked 
Lady  Cassock. 

"  The  name  merely,  from  Varian,"  replied  Gita.  "  He 
sees  something  of  the  son,  Sir  Ambry  Nunholme." 

"  Oh,  he  knows  him,  does  he?  "  Lady  Cassock  paused 
a  moment.  "  I  must  look  up  that  young  man.  Estelle, 
who  is  not  in  the  least  impressionable,  has  spoken  of 
him  to  me  on  three  distinct  occasions.  His  mother  has 
re-married — a  Mr.  Something-or-Other,  but  whether  the 
money  is  his  or  hers — ."  Etta  was  falling  into  the 
familiar  rut  of  a  financial  muse  when  her  daughter  ap- 
peared, looking  half  her  age  in  a  mulberry-coloured 
motor  bonnet  of  shirred  taffetas. 

"  Good-bye,  mamma.  Marcelle  has  the  pearls."  She 
bent  over  her  mother,  and  they  exchanged  a  peck  on 
the  cheek-bone. 

Mrs.  Edmonton  got  up. 


68  THE  IMMORTAL  GYMNASTS 

"  Good-bye,  Etta,  and  many  thanks  for  Anie.  I 
shall  keep  her  until  she  is  as  rosy  as  her  bonnet." 

"  So  you  are  off?  Estelle  and  I  may  run  down  some 
day,  if  we  can  squeeze  it  in.  You  have  ducal  neigh- 
bours, I  hear.    Do  you  ever  give  garden  parties?  " 

"  Never  1 "  exclaimed  Gita,  and  on  that  note  of 
decision  swept  her  niece  away. 

As  they  started  from  the  door  in  their  panting  car, 
Mrs.  Edmonton  suddenly  said,  turning  to  the  young 
girl,  "  We  are  so  near  Varian  here.  Shall  we  bob  in 
on  him  for  a  moment  ?  "  but,  noticing  a  frightened  little 
movement  on  Anie's  part,  reproached  herself  for  being 
indiscreet,  and  turned  the  matter  off.  "  Perhaps  not, 
we  are  a  bit  late,  and  he  is  probably  dressing  for  dinner, 
if  he  is  in  at  all.  We  shall  have  him  with  us  to-morrow. 
Do  you  mind?  " 

Hadn't  Varian  leaned  over  her  so  charmingly  with 
that  very  same  question?  Anie's  eyes  filled  again  with 
tears,  and  she  squeezed  Gita's  hand  without  speaking. 

"  Dear  child,"  murmured  that  lady.  "  Let  us  play 
that  I  am  your  mother,  too,  for  the  time  that  you  are 
with  me.  Tell  me  what  you  will,  or  be  silent — what- 
ever you  do,  we  are  friends  and  comrades  from  this 
moment." 

"  Then  may  I  call  you  Gita?  You  seem  so  young," 
said  Anie,  stuffing  a  moist  scrap  of  handkerchief  out  of 
sight.     Gita  laughed  her  assent. 

A  hideous  reaction  had  kept  Anie  white  and  shaken 
ever  since  she  had  left  the  house  in  Gordon  Square  the 
preceding  afternoon.  "  Ambry — Ambry — Ambry,"  all 
night  long  she  had  clung  to  his  name  as  instinctively  as 
she  would  have  thrown  her  poor  little  body  at  him  had 


THE  IMMORTAL  GYMNASTS  69 

he  been  there.  Then  across  the  dark,  impure  flood  that 
seemed  to  be  sweeping  her  away  light  would  break 
in  fantastic  squares  through  which  Varian  appeared — 
Varian  as  he  had  been  years  ago  at  Crops,  the  slim 
schoolboy  in  flannels,  with  bare  head,  and  Varian  as 
he  had  looked  yesterday  when  he  had  sat  beside 
her  on  that  miserable  sofa.  .  .  .  She  choked  back 
that  other  name,  holding  her  hot  throat  with  hotter 
hands,  forcing  flesh  and  spirit  back  into  those  cool, 
quiet  water-meadows  of  the  soul,  where  there  is 
peace. 

Now,  as  the  car  jolted  her  against  this  kind  Gita, 
his  mother,  who  was  snatching  her  away  from  Ambry- 
haunted  London  streets  and  squares,  Anie  felt  a  blessed 
numbness,  creeping  softly  as  a  cloud  over  her  whole 
jarred  and  wounded  being,  melting  the  arid  hardness, 
seeming  to  stroke  her  as  with  long,  flexible,  soothing 
fingers.  Ah,  she  would  do  well  at  Wimbledon,  she  knew 
it.  She  came  back  to  hear  Gita  saying  nervously,  "  To 
such  a  country  body  as  I  have  become,  this  confusion 
is  simply  intolerable." 

They  were  in  the  full  tide  of  a  late  afternoon  in  the 
roaring  season,  their  car  wedged  in  a  mass  of  his  brother 
monsters,  all  engaged  alike  in  chugging,  jerking,  gur- 
gling, and  expelling  nauseous  fumes.  Gita  leaned  for- 
ward to  tell  Peters  that  he  must  turn  into  a  by-way, 
must  carry  them  around  through  quiet  streets,  even  if 
it  did  make  them  late  for  dinner.  Presently  they  were 
gliding  through  what  appeared,  by  contrast,  the  trans- 
fixed, frozen  calm  of  a  city  of  the  dead — merely  a 
pleasant,  tranquil  thoroughfare,  in  rather  a  poor 
quarter,  but  quite  self-respecting. 


70  THE  IMMORTAL  GYMNASTS 

"  Oh,  what  a  charming  sight !  Go  slowly,  Peters," 
exclaimed  Gita,  drawing  her  companion's  attention  to 
a  certain  dairy  shop  that  you  and  I  know  quite  well, 
set  up  in  an  old-fashioned  house  with  a  large  bow- 
window  in  which  are  arranged,  with  what  would  seem 
extraordinary  taste  to  a  casual  eye,  such  as  Gita's,  the 
milk,  the  cream,  the  cheeses  on  the  tiles  and  in  the 
baskets,  the  panniers  full  of  eggs,  the  golden  pats  of 
butter,  the  pots  of  pinks  between  the  jars,  the  whole 
delightful  Delia  Robbia  palette  of  whites  and  creams, 
greens  and  yellows  and  blues. 

Anie  leaned  forward  to  see  better.  "  What  a  pretty 
woman  in  there,  too!  Did  you  see  her?  What  a  lark 
to  live  in  a  tiny  room  and  to  buy  your  food  here! 
Everything  looks  so  fresh  and  spotless.  See  what  good 
curtains  there  are  at  the  back  windows.  Perhaps  some 
one  quite  nice  keeps  the  little  shop  as  a  fad." 

"  I  wonder,"  says  Mrs.  Edmonton.  "  I  must  remem- 
ber the  street,  and  tell  Varian  to  look  it  Up.  He  is  fond 
of  out-of-the-way,  quaint  things,  and  certainly  that 
shop  is  a  jewel.  It  actually  expresses  something.  The 
pretty  woman  inside  is  doubtless  as  fresh  and  sweet  as 
her  wares.  I  like  that."  She  turned  to  Peters,  "As 
soon  as  the  road  is  clear,  go  as  fast  as  we  dare."  Then 
to  Anie,  "  Dear  child,  I  am  so  anxious  to  install  you 
in  my  garden,  in  the  sun,  with  never  an  idea  in  your 
poor  little  tired  head,  with  nothing  to  do  but  to  watch 
the  bees,  to  smell  the  flowers,  and  to  drink  our  wonder- 
ful milk.  I  feel  as  if  I  should  like  to  send  in  our 
surplus  to  that  delightful  shop  to  be  doled  out  to  sick 
babies  and  homeless  cats.  Do  you  know,  that  Is  not 
such  a  bad  idea.     We  might  talk  it  over  with  Varian, 


THE  IMMORTAL  GYMNASTS  71 

and  he  could  investigate,  see  the  pretty  housewife,  and 
make  the  arrangements." 

"  Oh,  I  am  going  to  be  so  happy  with  you,  dear  Gita," 
whispered  Anie,  as  the  car  shot  up  the  shadowy  drive 
to  the  long,  white  house,  glimmering  pale  in  the  evening 
light,  a  blur  of  candles  showing  hospitably  between  the 
misty  curtains,  good  Miss  Peet-Byng  waiting  for  them, 
a  little  anxiously,  at  the  top  of  the  shallow  round  of 
steps. 


CHAPTER  FIVE 

IT  is  again  the  fragrant,  tea-filled,  twilight  hour,  the 
best  of  all  the  day,  some  two  weeks  after  what 
Quin  would  call  the  Adventure  of  the  Match.  In 
handing  Varian  that  necessary  implement  that  day  near 
Oxford  Street,  Quin,  this  child  of  Cloudland,  imperfectly 
fitted  into  his  habit  of  sandwichman,  was  put  at  once 
into  spiritual  contact  with  lives  not  his  own  by  the 
mere  brushing  of  young  Edmonton's  hand  against  his. 
And  lo,  the  trail  led  straight  to  the  little  lady  in  the 
riding-habit,  and  to  the  blond  young  gentleman,  rasped, 
guilty,  and  uneasy  in  his  flat  in  Wilton  Place. 

Coming  home  that  evening  to  find  Panta  gone  up 
early  to  his  bed,  Quin  strangled  mentally  an  unreason- 
ing throb  of  joy  at  the  thought  of  Bina  alone  by  the 
hearth,  facing  him  in  that  intoxicatingly  domestic  pos- 
ture for  a  blessed  hour  or  more.  There,  indeed,  he 
found  her  ready  for  him,  with  her  warm  hand  and  her 
kind,  fair  face.  His  belated  supper  was  forthcoming, 
set  out  on  a  napkin  on  a  little  round  table,  the  tiny  pan 
of  toasted  cheese  one  mass  of  living,  golden  bubbles. 
Then  ale  and  a  pipe,  and  his  long,  slim  legs — those  steel- 
like, flexible,  muscle-rippling  legs  of  the  famous  dancer — 
stretched  out  before  him,  with  Bina's  face,  Bina's  eyes, 
Bina's  hair,  wavering,  beckoning,  shimmering  like  a 
water-pixie's  through  the  pipe  smoke's  hazy  rings. 

So  he  told  her  of  that  chance  meeting,  and  of  the 
giving  of  the  match. 

"  Describe  him,"  demanded  Bina. 

72 


THE  IMMORTAL  GYMNASTS  73 

"  Oh,  a  charming  boy,  a  year  or  so  younger  than  our 
Ambry.  I  caught  the  anxious,  angry,  wounded  reflex 
of  his  interview  with  the  latter  from  which  he  had  just 
rushed  blindly  away.  He,  Varian,  was  killing  time  be- 
fore going  to  meet  the  little  lady.  I  gathered  that  his 
heart  is  more  engaged  than  he  dreams  of.  While  still 
to  the  outward  eye  carrying  my  board  and  my  fez  and 
my  towel  suit  along  our  weary  beat,  the  better  part  of 
me,  lifted  by  the  cloud-current,  was  presently  mounting 
the  steps  of  a  house  in  Gordon  Square  in  the  wake  of 
Varian." 

"  Do  girls  have  such  liberty?  Had  she  gone  there 
alone  to  meet  Ambry  ?  " 

"  A  foolish,  romantic,  old  German  governess  has 
winked  at  the  affair,  and  lends  her  her  sitting-room. 
My  young  man,  inwardly  writhing,  asking  himself  just 
such  questions  as  you  have  put,  marched  upstairs  with- 
out giving  his  name,  Ambry,  not  he,  being  expected. 

"  The  whole  interior,  you  must  know,  is  dull  and 
dim  in  the  extreme,  with  odd  little  German  woodcuts 
hung  in  a  string  along  the  wall  of  the  staircase — Sans- 
Souci  as  it  was  a  hundred  years  ago.  We  know  it  well, 
Bina,  eh,  when  we  tramped  from  village  fete  to  village 
fete,  blowing  on  our  fingers  when  they  were  cold." 

"  Yes,  and  I  remember  how  you  used  to  buy  me  a 
nice,  roasted  potato  to  slip  in  my  old  rabbit-skin  muff 
to  keep  my  hands  warm  while  yours  and  Panta's  were 
freezing. — Those  old  days  growing  dimmer  and  dimmer 
as  we  become  more — Cubical,  for  Panta  cannot  use  his 
cloud-current  as  you  do,  and  I  never  could." 

"  Women  rarely  do.  It  is  a  trick  of  mental  discipline. 
I  have  always  found  it  easy." 


74  THE  IMMORTAL  GYMNASTS 

"  But  go  on  with — Varian,  do  you  call  him  ?  "  urged 
Bina,  "  that  nice  boy." 

"  He  is  lean  and  tall,  with  grey  eyes  and  bright 
brown  hair.  He  is  intensely  in  earnest,  frank,  fresh, 
boyish,  chivalrous,  in  love  with  the  little  lady,  but  too 
innocently  inexperienced  to  realize  what  is  the  matter 
with  him.  I  gathered,  without  paying  much  attention, 
that  he  and  she  are  cousins  of  sorts,  their  respective 
mothers  being  half-sisters. 

"  Ambry,  callously  bent  upon  shaking  off  the  little 
Anie,  yet,  if  he  were  to  meet  her,  knowing  himself  still 
sufficiently  susceptible  to  her  undeniable  charm  to  weaken 
in  his  resolution,  pitches  upon  his  young  friend  Varian 
as  a  confidant.  Dramatic  moment  when  Varian  dis- 
covers that  it  is  his  own  cousin  who  is  to  be  so  humiliat- 
ingly  disposed  of.  Now  here  comes  in  a  rather  curious 
thing  that  I  do  not  quite  understand  myself.  Being 
en  rapport  with  Varian,  I  know  that,  at  the  most  heated 
moment  of  the  conversation  in  Ambry's  rooms,  he, 
Varian,  believes  himself  to  have  had  a  vision  of  Anie 
as  a  little  girl,  supported  by  two  odd,  strangely-dressed 
figures,  a  man  and  a  woman.  Who  but  you  and  me,  my 
dear!" 

Bina  sat  up  straight  and  stared,  showing  every  tra- 
ditional mark  of  the  liveliest  surprise. 

"  You  and  me,  Quin  ?     But  how  do  you  know  ?  " 

"Who  else  could  it  be?  The  fair  woman  in  misty 
white,  with  a  blue  cloak,  the  man  in  glittering,  diamond- 
barred  tights,  with  a  scrap  of  a  black  masque,  and  a 
wooden  sword — Harlequin  to  the  life,  my  child.  You 
and  I,  manifestly,  but  how  did  we  project  ourselves,  or, 
rather,  how  were  we  projected  by  the  force  of  some 


THE  IMMORTAL  GYMNASTS  75 

unknown  connexion  with  the  little  Anie?  To  be  sure, 
I  had  entered  her  circuit  the  day  before  the  meeting  in 
Wilton  Place,  when  I  caught  her  as  she  fell.  Then 
I  read  off  and  told  you  of  her  letter  to  this  precious 
Ambry.  The  circuit  must  be  sufficiently  strong  between 
Varian  and  the  little  lady  (he's  in  love  with  her,  mind!) 
for  an  unconscious  projection  of  herself  to  be  visible 
to  him  at  a  moment  of  mental  excitement,  he,  of  course, 
being  distinctly  a  sensitive — some  Cubes  can  be  aston- 
ishingly so.  The  fact  that  he  loves  her  makes  the  vibra- 
tions more  active.  She,  in  the  projection,  drags  me  in 
because  I  had  just  entered  her  circuit,  and  I  must  have 
dragged  you  in  because  you  are  ever  in  mine — my 
Bina." 

Did  Quin  permit  himself  a  warmer  tone  than  usual? 
He  seemed  to  fancy  so,  and,  rather  alarmed,  puffed 
furiously  for  a  moment  upon  his  ancient,  brown  friend. 
Bina,  in  that  baffling  way  of  the  beloved  woman,  was 
serenity  itself. 

"  We  may  learn  more  of  this  later,"  said  she.  "  I 
am  beginning  to  be  so  interested  in  it.  It  is  much 
more  exciting  than  reading  a  story,  because  you  are 
behind  the  scenes,  seeing  and  hearing  the  whole  thing 
hammered  and  beaten  into  shape.  .  .  .  But  what  about 
Varian  and  his  little  lady  ?  " 

"  The  poor  child  took  it  gallantly  enough  at  the 
moment.  She  is  submerged  in  the  rather  overwhelm- 
ingly thick,  but  sweet  and  heady  flood  of  this  Ambry's 
merely  physical  personality.  She  struggles  to  keep  her 
feet,  but  the  memories  of  him  that  have  burned  into 
her  poor  little  consciousness  keep  buffeting  her,  bowling 
her  over,  sucking  her  back.    She  has  fast  hold  of  Vari- 


76  THE  IMMORTAL  GYMNASTS 

an's  hand  now,  that  young  knight  having  put  it  very 
plainly  to  her  that  Ambry  is  hopelessly  tired  of  her, 
anxious,  desirous,  nay,  brutally  bent  on  never  setting 
eyes  on  her  again  if  he  can  help  it." 

"  How  hard  for  the  young  thing ! " 

"  Yes,  it  is  rather  a  cold-blooded  proceeding,  but 
these  Ambrys  are  a  feature  of  our  civilization,  and  they 
must  be  fed  frequently  with  fresh  girlish  morsels.  Some 
colder,  more  biting  nature  will  make  him  heel  one  of 
these  fine  days — but  never  the  Anie  type.  Our  young 
Varian  sees  that  he  must  get  her  out  of  London,  away 
from  the  haunted  pavements  of  Wilton  Place,  and  from 
the  too  facile  opportunities  of  Gordon  Square,  so  he 
throws  himself  and  his  little  wounded  friend  on  his  good 
mother  at  Wimbledon,  who,  I  imagine,  is  his  willing 
slave.  I  can  tell  you  no  more,  for  I  grew  too  physically 
tired  to  make  the  constant  effort  of  concentration  neces- 
sary to  expel  the  current  and  to  receive  the  ticked-ofF 
messages.  I  came  to  myself — my  self  of  the  bathing 
establishment — to  discover  that  I  had  distanced  all  my 
mates,  and  was  trudging  along  an  interminable,  down- 
at-the-heel  street,  where  every  other  house  or  garden 
gate  crookedly  bore  a  dismal  To  be  Let  sign,  out 
somewhere  near  the  Regent's  Park." 

"  Oh,  poor  Quin !    Why  did  you  do  it?  " 

"  My  dear,  I  was  not  aware  of  it  at  all.  I  was 
safe  in  Gordon  Square,  in  that  shady,  cool,  upper  room, 
with  Varian  and  Anie,  both  in  such  dead,  youthful  ear- 
nest, side  by  side  upon  a  shabby  sofa.  But  that  con- 
founded board  on  my  shoulders  was  heavy  by  that  time, 
I  assure  you.  I  hope  some  of  those  forlorn  householders, 
with  their  unlettable  houses  on  their  necks,  will  slip 


THE  IMMORTAL  GYMNASTS  77 

off  some  fine  day  and  drown  themselves,  like  eyeless  kit- 
tens, in  '  our '  great  Bath,  newly  established  in  its 
gilded  halls  in  Victoria  Street.  Then,  poor  devils,  my 
long  tramp  will  not  have  been  in  vain."  , 

Bina  laid  aside  her  knitting — an  old-fashioned  habit 
she  had  picked  up  abroad,  good  for  the  long,  storm- 
bound winter  evenings  by  the  glowing  stove — and  looked 
attentively  at  her  companion. 

"  Quin,  my  friend,  you  distress  me.  You  work  too 
hard.  You  must  not.  This  wonderful  little  shop  makes 
more  gold  pieces  than  we  have  ever  had  together  in  our 
lives.  You  know  that  it  is  our  common  fund.  You 
know  that  I  could  cry  to  see  your  eyes  as  weary  as  they 
are  to-night.  Don't !  "  She  leaned  across  and  put  both 
hands  on  the  arms  of  his  chair,  hemming  him  in,  her 
dear,  kind,  fair  face,  with  foolish  little  motherly  wrinkles 
on  the  smooth  brow,  rather  too  maddeningly  near  him, 
especially  as  he  really  was  fatigued,  less  master  of  him- 
self than  usual,  the  long  afternoon  in  the  grip  of  the 
cloud-current  having  induced  its  inevitable,  sharp, 
physical  reaction. 

Pressing  his  head  against  the  back  of  his  chair,  he 
summoned  a  smile,  as  nearly  of  the  everyday  variety 
as  he  could  manage  at  such  short  notice,  being  con- 
vinced that  this  was  not  the  moment  to  show  her  how 
moved  he  was. 

"  My  dearest  girl,  your  sympathy  and  care  for  me 
are  the  sweetest  things  in  life."  Here  he  laid  a  thin, 
finely-shaped,  brown  hand  upon  each  of  hers,  gently 
detaching  them  from  their  hold  upon  his  chair,  keeping 
them  in  his  quietly  for  a  moment,  and  then  putting 
them  back  in  her  lap  on  top  of  her  knitting. 


78  THE  IMMORTAL  GYMNASTS 

"  I  am  tired  to-night,  I  confess,  but  to  come  back  to 
this  little  house,  to  find  you  here,  to  sit  with  you  by 
the  hearth,  to  have  you  minister  to  me  with — toasted 
cheese — such  cheese !  "  he  blew  an  airy  kiss,  "  ah,  Bina, 
Bina,  no  sandwich-board  could  be  heavy  enough  to  op- 
press me  after  that.  No,  my  dear,  to  be  serious,  it  is 
not  the  physical  fatigue  that  takes  it  out  of  me.  I 
gave  myself  up  a  little  too  unreservedly  this  afternoon 
to  our  young  friend's  lives,  their  predicaments,  their 
emotions.  I  admit  it  has  worked  on  me  a  bit.  But 
this  long  body  of  mine,  these  legs  and  arms  must  be 
exercised  rigorously — the  endless  tramps  in  the  wind 
and  the  rain,  or  the  dust  and  the  sun,  are  what  I  need. 
The  press  and  passage  of  the  people,  streaming  up  and 
streaming  down,  sending  out  infinite  emotional  waves 
that  I  catch,  if  I  will,  for  amusement,  or  allow  to  drift 
by — all  this  gives  to  life  a  certain  dim,  ever-changing 
pattern,  and  I  am  out,  watching  for  the  proper  pieces 
to  slip  into  their  places — such  colours  sometimes — green 
and  bronze  and  red,  red  gold — that  hover  all  over  it, 
like  an  Indian  scarf !  " 

He  had  pushed  his  chair  nearer  to  her  while  speak- 
ing, fixing  his  eyes  on  her  flying  fingers.  How  the 
lamplight  caught  and  sparkled  on  the  long,  steel  needles, 
on  a  little,  rosy  nail ! 

She  smiled  at  him.  "You  but  half  convince  me, 
you  know,  but  what  chance  does  poor  Columbine  ever 
have  against  Harlequin?  How  I  love  the  old  names! 
I  shall  steal  your  sword  some  day  and  give  you  a  fine 
drubbing  with  it  when  you  are  not  looking.  Then, 
perhaps,  you  will  not  wish  honest  householders  to 
drown  themselves  like  kittens." 


THE  IMMORTAL  GYMNASTS  79 

Quin  laughed  and  felt  ten  years  younger  at  once. 
"  A  foolish  desire  of  mine,  that,  for  it  would  give  the 
Bath  a  bad  name  and  then  I  should  no  longer  be  able 
to  foot  it  gallantly  in  fez  and  towelling."  He  stretched 
himself  with  a  slow  luxuriousness,  letting  his  long 
length  half  slide  out  of  the  leather  chair,  that  slippery 
throne  of  poor  Panta,  who  never  can  keep  his  ancient 
body  firmly  affixed  to  its  worn  cushions. 

Running  an  idle  hand  into  the  pocketlike  cavity 
under  one  of  its  arms,  Quin  drew  forth  a  thin,  mis- 
shapen, blotched  volume,  bound  in  defaced,  gold-rubbed 
calf,  with  a  certain  fly-specked,  weather-beaten  air,  as 
though  it  had  worn  out  weary  days  and  longer  nights 
in  some  wooden  trough,  some  catchpenny  counter  of 
the  second-hand  man.  How  many  idle,  or  trembling,  or 
merely  soiled  fingers  had  pricked  it  out,  in  a  moment's 
curiosity,  only  to  cast  it  back  again,  in  its  poor  sixpenny 
section,  with  its  battered  brethren,  repelled  by  the  for- 
bidding obscurity  of  its  title — "  The  Immortal  Gym- 
nast?" 

How  many  had  conceived  it  to  be  a  set  of  rules  and 
directions  as  to  how  to  comport  one's  self  in  the  pres- 
ence of  a  trapeze,  set  up,  say,  in  one's  back  garden ;  or 
a  manual  to  inculcate  the  right  use  of  the  horizontal 
bars,  the  Swedish  ladder,  or  what  not?  These  hardy 
pioneers,  interested  in  Physical  Culture — what  a  fellow 
can  get  for  himself  after  shop  hours — would  pluck  it 
forth  eagerly,  turn  over  a  few  pages,  then  drop  it  with 
a  glazing  eye,  and  the  almost  inevitable  use  of  one  or 
two  of  those  cutting  adjectives  dear  to  the  tongue  of 
uncultured  youth. 

But  our  friend  Pantaloon  was  never  one  to  be  deterred 


80  THE  IMMORTAL  GYMNASTS 

by  appearances.  In  a  morning  stroll  on  the  sweet  shady 
side  of — but  what  does  the  street  matter  since  it  was 
certainly  not  Pall  Mall? — he  was  wont  to  loiter  like 
any  other  amiable  old  gentleman,  in  front  of  the  book- 
sellers' shops,  for  the  mere  pleasure  of  running  his  eye 
over  the  heterogenous  titles  of  these  waifs  and  strays, 
these  hapless  paupers  of  that  Kingdom  of  Letters  where 
the  maimed,  the  disfigured,  the  crippled,  the  blind,  nay, 
even  the  still-born,  are  as  shamelessly  displayed  as  in 
any  human  clinic. 

Being  in  a  fair  way  of  immortality  himself,  and 
having  a  dear  and  intimate  friend  and  companion  who 
was  nothing  if  not  gymnastic,  Pantaloon,  with  quick- 
ened interest,  drew  the  thin,  speckled,  mildewed  volume 
from  between  its  two  vulgar,  blowsy  neighbours,  and 
fell  to  reading  it  there  upon  the  walk,  holding  it  well  up 
under  his  nose,  as  his  spectacles  were  not  upon  his 
person.  They  never  were.  For  ten  minutes  Panta  read 
on,  "  The  Immortal  Gymnast,"  enjoying  the  first  real 
triumph  of  his  life  since  publication.  He  had  "  ar- 
rived," if  only  to  the  consciousness  of  an  idle  old  man, 
but  that  was  glorious  enough  recognition  after  fifty 
years  of  baffling,  unpremeditated  incognito. 

Panta  rarely  dispensed  even  so  modest  a  sum  as 
sixpence  without  one  thought,  but  when  this  chance 
opportunity  presented  itself  to  acquire  such  a  bestirring 
chap,  so  vivid  and  entertaining,  so  fresh  and  strange, 
once  you  drew  apart  his  mouldy,  speckled  covers  and 
listened  to  his  heart  beat,  our  Panta,  without  the  least 
hesitation,  once  he  had  been  jostled  from  his  reader's 
dream  by  a  pushing,  outward-bound  customer,  marched 
into  the  tumbled,  stale  tobacco-haunted  shop,  dark  after 


THE  IMMORTAL  GYMNASTS  81 

the  sun  on  the  pavement,  and  allowed  to  tinkle  down 
upon  the  counter  the  bright,  required  coin. 

"  Oh,  that  is  something  Panta  picked  up  yesterday," 
said  Bina  in  answer  to  Quin's  look  of  inquiry.  "  He 
was  full  of  it  at  teatime  to-day,  when  you  were  not  here. 
He  says  he  will  read  it  to  us,  when  he  gets  a  bit  farther 
on  in  it  himself.  It  is  some  strange  and  unknown  treatise 
on  the  soul,  isn't  it?    Something  philosophic?  " 

"  Manifestly,"  replied  Quin.  "  In  what  odd  terminol- 
ogy they  swim,  these  old  boys !  "  He  turned  the  yellow- 
ish, crackling  leaves. 

Ten  quick  minutes  ticked  away.  The  neglected  Bina 
stifled  but  imperfectly  a  skeleton  yawn.  Quin  was  all 
attention  at  once,  stuffing  back  into  its  pocket-like  cell 
the  history  of  the  immortal  one. 

"  You  poor,  sleepy  child !    Time  to  lock  up,  eh?  " 

They  stood  together  while  she  lighted  two  candles, 
and  then  bent  over,  with  that  most  charming  of  feminine 
curves — the  yielding  dip  at  the  waist — to  blow  out  the 
lamp. 

"  Good-night,"  she  said,  smiling  at  him,  her  dark, 
soft  eyes  above  the  candle  flame,  her  small  pink  hand 
curved  to  cherish  its  smoky  flicker. 

"  Good-night,"  he  echoed,  as  she  drew  open  the  door 
that  concealed  the  tiny  well  of  the  staircase,  putting 
into  that  banal  refrain,  with  the  warmth  of  the  voice, 
with  the  absorption  of  the  eye,  as  much  as  he  dared  of 
that  intense  feeling,  dammed  back  as  it  habitually  was, 
that  now  rose  in  him  at  the  sight  of  this  beloved  woman 
going  up  to  bed  with  her  candle  in  her  hand. 


CHAPTER  SIX 

QUIN  being  again  absent  at  teatime  the  following 
day,  it  was  not  until  the  evening  that  the  three 
were  gathered  together  in  their  accustomed 
places — Panta  in  the  leather  chair,  armed  with  his  book, 
absently  speeding  some  stray  crumbs  off  his  old  striped 
waistcoat  with  a  forefinger  in  brisk  action  with  his 
thumb;  Quin,  on  the  floor,  his  back  against  the  side  of 
the  empty  fireplace,  smoking  a  cigarette,  his  famous  legs 
coiled  with  professional  negligence;  Bina,  in  a  little 
rush  chair  by  the  lamp,  her  everlasting  knitting  in 
her  swiftly-moving  hands. 

Presently  Panta,  who  had  been  dying  for  an  opening, 
said: 

"  This  fellow  here,  in  this  book,  tries  to  show  that 
it  doesn't  really  matter  what  kind  of  people  we  are — 
I  might  just  as  well  be  Bina,  and  Quin  might  just  as 
well  be  me." 

"  As  well  as  what  ?  "  asked  Bina.  Panta  very  prop- 
erly took  no  notice  of  her.  How  could  he?  He  con- 
tinued : 

"  I  should  judge  this  man  to  be  a  philosopher,  not 
being  one  myself.  He  means  that  we  are  really,  ulti- 
mately, all  the  same  thing — gymnasts,  he  calls  us  be- 
cause we  turn  back  on  ourselves — that  deep-down  Us 
that  says  '  I  am  I,'  and  not  another  living  thing.  But 
when  I  say,  *  I  am  Pantaloon,'  that  is  something  different 
entirely." 


THE  IMMORTAL  GYMNASTS  83 

"  So  he  has  two  '  I's,'  "  put  in  Quin,  "  one  with  clothes 
off  and  one  with  clothes  on,  you,  Pantaloon,  being  the 
wardrobe,  as  it  were " 

"  But  it's  the  strangeness  of  it  all,  if  it  be  true," 
persisted  Pantaloon.  "  And  why  not  ?  It  seems  so  far 
away  from  the  business  and  the  shop,  from  this  little 
room,  from  the  candles  and  the  lamp,  and  from — us. 
But  this  fellow  knows  that  tremendous  things  are  going 
on  underneath  everything  all  the  time.  Oh,  he  sees  it 
as  clear  as  print — an  old  chap  he  must  have  been,  dead 
these  fifty  years  or  more." 

"  And  here  we  sit,  as  snug  as  you  please,  nothing 
going  around  but  the  hands  of  the  clock,"  puts  in  Bina. 
Quin  smiled  at  her,  but  addressed  Panta : 

"  Listen  to  me,  Panta.  Let  us  grant  the  inside 
gymnast,  all  alike  for  all  of  us,  but  what  about  our 
outsides,  our  bodies?  How  and  why  do  we  get  them, 
and  why  are  they  all  different?  Have  you  got  as  far 
as  that?" 

The  old  man  sat  crumpled  up  in  his  chair,  with  the 
book  sustained  on  a  generous  hunch  in  his  waistcoat. 

"  These  philosopher-chaps  don't  fit  it  out  so  clear 
and  neat  as  we  would  make  it,  Quin,"  he  replied,  "  if  we 
sat  down  to  write.  You  can't  ever  find  an  answer  to  a 
plain  question  like  that,  not  in  so  many  words.  I'll 
warrant  you  he'll  say  something  about  it  later.  '  Ex- 
perience '  is  a  word  he's  always  using.  That  means 
what  happens  in  the  world.  Now  our  bodies  walk  us 
about  this  world,  so  he  must  put  in  a  bit  about  how  we 
gymnast-fellows  get  our  bodies,  and  what  they  are " 

"  But  it's  all  so  simple,  you  foolish  men,"  cried  Bina 
merrily.      "  If   I   pinched   you,   Quin,   or   kissed   you, 


84  THE  IMMORTAL  GYMNASTS 

Panta,  you  wouldn't  be  asking  where  your  bodies  came 
from " 

"  But  we'd  thank  God  we  had  'em  and  be  quiet," 
laughed  Quin.  "  Isn't  that  it?  When  you  feel  some- 
thing, you  know  it,  but  when  you  know  something,  you 
don't  always  feel  it,  so  it  doesn't  work  both  ways." 

Bina  threw  up  her  hands  in  mock  horror  at  this 
fallacious  explanation,  and,  womanlike,  sought  relief  in 
a  material  sedative. 

"  Let  me  get  your  pipe,  Quin.  You  are  never  your- 
self when  you  smoke  those  foolish  little  paper-covered 
bundles."  She  got  up  so  quickly  that  beneath  her  gown 
you  saw  her  pretty  slim  ankles  and  the  flash  of  a  bright 
buckle  on  her  shoe.  Her  hand  went  behind  the  clock, 
whose  hoarse,  arrogant  tick  proclaimed  age  and  in- 
competency, and  reached  down  to  Quin  his  smoky, 
brown  companion. 

His  eyes  had  never  left  her,  and  he  continued  to  fix 
her  fair  face  through  the  thin  violet  wreath  that  pres- 
ently arose  from  the  hot  heart  of  his  dumb,  ignited 
friend. 

Some  twenty  minutes  passed  in  this  agreeable  fashion, 
Panta  reading  out  a  tremendous  paragraph  now  and 
then,  Bina  making  great  play  with  her  slender,  steel, 
domestic  weapons,  stabbing  them  remorselessly  through 
the  soft,  yielding  meshes  of  the  grey  wool,  and  Quin — 
lazy,  languid,  graceful,  virile  Harlequin — lying  prone 
upon  the  rug,  so  close  to  Bina  that  he  could  have  laid 
a  nervous  brown  hand  upon  that  slim  foot  in  its  buckled 
shoe,  did  he  but  have  the  courage.  Instead,  he  kept 
both  hands  carefully  behind  his  head,  out  of  harm's 
way,  gripping  his  pipe  between  his  firm,  white  teeth. 


THE  IMMORTAL  GYMNASTS 85 

Presently  Panta  looked  up,  struck  by  their  silence. 

"  I  must  say,  Bina,  my  child,  that  sixpence  was  well 
spent.  Here  we've  sat  up  till — Lord  bless  my  soul! 
eleven  o'clock,  and  there  are  chapters  and  chapters  to 
be  gone  through  yet."  Panta  closed  his  famous  book 
with  a  resounding  smack,  leaned  back  like  a  weary 
warrior,  and  prepared  himself  for  the  felicitations  of 
his  friends. 

"  It  is  wonderfully  interesting,  Panta  dear,"  beams 
little  sly  Bina.     "  I  know  I  shall  not  sleep  to-night." 

Poor  child,  she  had,  after  the  manner  of  her  sex,  con- 
fused the  chaste  problems  of  high  philosophy  with  the 
vulgar  terrors  of  a  psychical  research  report.  But  what 
can  a  fellow  do? 

Quin,  uncommonly  practical,  rose  to  his  feet  and  went 
to  look  for  beer.  Bina  made  an  hospitable  clatter  with 
their  evening  mugs,  and  all  three  drank  deep  to  the 
health  of  the  immortal  gymnast  whose  hidden  activities 
they  had  just  begun  ominously  to  suspect  in  their  own 
internal  economies — cloud-capped  as  they  knew  them- 
selves to  be. 

Panta  said  good-night,  and  bundled  off  up  the  stairs. 
The  other  two  lingered  for  a  further  chat.  Each  night 
they  seemed  to  find  it  harder  to  go  their  separate  ways — 
the  cloud-currents  drew  them  more  feebly  and  more 
feebly,  the  sweep  of  the  Cubical  life  in  which  they  were 
caught  became  stronger  and  stronger,  hurtling  them 
ever  nearer  that  brink  beyond  which  lies,  sunny  and 
simple,  shining  in  the  light  of  common  day,  the  happy 
destiny  of  two  united  Cubes.  No  more  launching  out 
of  the  soul  on  the  cloud-current,  O  disfranchised  Harle- 
quin, no  more  proud  withdrawal  from  the  clamour,  the 


86  THE  IMMORTAL  GYMNASTS 

heat,  the  dust  of  this  Cubical  life  that  hems  you  in  on 
every  side.  No  more  of  that,  to  be  sure,  but  what  in- 
stead do  the  gods  place  in  your  hands, — a  human  hearth 
of  your  very  own,  all  bright  and  flamy,  fed  by  human 
love — whose  love  but  Columbine's,  grown  at  last  to  be 
a  woman,  grown  at  last  to  be  your  wife?  And  at  the 
end  of  all,  a  human  death,  a  sleep  and  a  forgetting. 
No  longer  this  torpid,  semi-immortality  that  begins  now 
to  weigh  so  irksomely,  as  you  look  back  drearily 
through  the  cloud-piled  years.  Something  like  this 
flashed  through  Quin's  mind  as  he  watched  Bina  rinse 
out  the  mugs  and  range  them  neatly  on  their  accus- 
tomed shelf,  he,  meanwhile,  industriously  knocking  the 
ashes  out  of  his  pipe  to  give  himself  a  countenance. 
But,  being  Quin,  he  must  needs  kick  against  the  mani- 
fest flow  of  the  earth- current.  Figuratively  swinging 
his  cloud-cap,  he  gave  battle  with  the  deceptively  harm- 
less and  misleading  phrase :  "  I  wonder  how  the  little 
lady  likes  her  haven  at  Wimbledon?  That  young  Varian 
is  a  pleasing  lad." 

Bina  bit  instantly.  "  I  was  on  the  point  of  asking 
you  about  them  to-night,  when  Panta  plunged  us  so 
deep  in  his  philosophic  tub  that  I,  for  one,  all  wet  and 
stringy,  couldn't  crawl  out.  But,  Quin,  can't  you  tell 
what  they  are  doing,  aren't  you  still — what  do  you  call 
it? — en  rapport?  " 

"  No,  that's  the  deuce.  I  am  becoming  weaker  and 
weaker.  Ages  ago  I  could  follow  a  trail  for  a  month 
without  a  fresh  scent,  but  now,  like  a  poor,  decrepit, 
half-blind  old  hound,  I  must  be  put  on  anew.  Until  I 
run  across  one  or  other  of  them  again  I  am  as  ignorant 
as  any  placid  Cube." 


THE  IMMORTAL  GYMNASTS  87 

"  You  know  that  Varian  lives  in  Cambridge  Street — 
not  so  far  from  here.  Don't  you  think  the  good  people 
of  that  neighbourhood  should  be  told  about  the  Bath? 
It  is  your  manifest  duty  to  patrol  that  street  from  end 
to  end." 

"  Alas,"  sighed  Quin  in  mock  despair,  "  we  poor  devils 
have  our  inevitable  '  beat,'  and  I  am  on  the  Oxford 
Street  gang  at  this  moment.  I  have  a  feeling  in  my 
bones,  however,  that  I  am  about  to  take  a  bit  of  a 
holiday " 

"  Really  ?  "  cried  Bina,  coming  close  to  have  a  good 
look  at  him.  "  Oh,  I  am  so  glad !  Your  poor  eyes  are 
tired,  tired,  tired." 

"  Nonsense,  my  good  child.  But  the  fact  is,  I  must 
have  some  hard  work  in  a  gymnasium.  It's  noblesse 
oblige  with  me  not  to  let  these  legs  and  arms  stiffen. 
There  are  some  new  dances  hovering  in  my  fancy  that 
I  want  to  work  out,  and  when  I  have  them  well  started, 
we'll  do  them  together  here.  But  how  do  you,  my  dear 
Bina,  keep  yourself  as  supple  as  a  willow-wand,  while 
your  poor  Harlequin  gets  so  shaky  and  old?  " 

"Ladling  new  milk,  filling  baskets  and  jars,  unpack- 
ing eggs,  and  flying  from  door  to  window,  from  counter 
to  shelf,  fifty  times  a  day,"  laughed  Bina,  wreathing 
her  arms  above  her  head,  and  swaying  her  young  body 
in  one  of  her  old-time  "  movements." 

"  Charmin',"  said  Quin  between  his  teeth,  staring  at 
the  wall  beyond  her. 

"  As  for  you  calling  yourself  old  and  stiff,"  con- 
tinued Bina,  "  that  is  simply  a  brazen  and  abandoned 
attempt  to  extract  compliments  from  me.  Well,  since 
you  must  have  your  sugar-plum,  here  it  is :    I  give  you 


88  THE  IMMORTAL  GYMNASTS 

my  word  that  I  have  never  seen  a  more  delightfully 
graceful  line  and  pattern  than  you  coiled  your  won- 
derful legs  into  this  very  night,  sitting  on  the  floor, 
with  your  back  to  the  fireplace.  That  is  by  no  means 
an  easy  thing  to  do,  either,  and  you  had  been  tramping 
with  that  horrid  sandwich-board  all  day.  Oh,  when 
are  you  going  to  give  up  the  old  thing  and  start  your 
practice?  Do  it  at  once.  I  am  wild  to  begin."  Her 
eyes  shone  like  stars,  her  soft  hair  seemed  to  ruffle  itself 
into  an  airy  crown,  her  whole  little  person  quivered  up- 
ward like  a  dancing  flame. 

"  Patience,  carita"  cried  Quin,  U  we  mustn't  let  the 
old  life  carry  us  away  again.  We  are  sober  house- 
holders now,  not  tripping  it  at  the  fair.  We  must  go 
slowly.  .  .  .  How  beautiful  you  always  were  when  you 
danced!  Oh,  Bina,  Bina,  this  won't  do.  Give  me  my 
candle,  and  let  me  carry  my  weary  old  bones  up  to  bed. 
To-day  is  Friday.  A  week  from  to-morrow  I  resign 
from  the  sandwich  corps,  despite  the  passionate  remon- 
strances that  I  feel  sure  will  burst  from  the  lips  of 
the  commanding  officer.  Thus  do  I  cut  short  a  promis- 
ing, if  not  lucrative,  career." 

Quin  had  succeeded  in  escaping  from  the  dangerously 
sweet,  dangerously  emotional  atmosphere  that  seemed 
to  hang  about  the  quiet,  brown,  smoky  room,  simply 
because  Bina,  suddenly  becoming  a  starry  Columbine, 
had  chosen  to  dance  across  it  on  the  tips  of  highly- 
trained  toes.     No  more  to-night. 

He  would  not  let  her  blow  out  the  lamp,  but  sent  her 
upstairs  ahead  of  him,  and  performed  that  last,  mystic, 
domestic  rite  himself. 


CHAPTER  SEVEN 

ON  her  first  night  at  Wimbledon,  Anie  shivered 
down  into  her  great,  white  bed,  pulling  her  blue 
bedgown  up  about  her  in  a  trembling,  nervous 
chill.  Gita  had  been  good  to  her,  and  the  whole  quiet 
house,  with  its  halls,  its  galleries,  its  large,  square 
saloons,  set  about  with  such  deep,  inviting  chairs,  such 
somnolent  sofas,  seemed  to  hold  out  comfortable  mother- 
arms  to  the  girl  who  had  never  felt  the  pressure  of  a 
similar  embrace.  Nevertheless,  here  she  was  lying, 
chattering  her  poor  teeth,  biting  her  lips  to  keep  back 
the  sobs,  drawing  up  the  miserable  little  icy  feet  into 
the  folds  of  her  gown.  She  would  not  think  of  London, 
of  a  London  at  this  midnight  hour,  waking,  turning  out 
of  its  drowse,  hanging  itself  with  streamers  of  light, 
rolling  out  crimson  carpets,  opening  windows  on  balcony 
and  garden  to  let  in  the  warm,  scented  air — because  you 
become  so  hot  when  you  dance.  It  was  the  night  of 
Lady  Juliet's  cotillion.  Estelle  had  a  new  gown  for 
it,  something  green  and  very  tight.  Anie  held  her 
hands  over  her  eyes,  pressing  the  throbbing  eyeballs. 
Between  the  red  and  blue  sparks,  revolving  like  des- 
perate demon-driven  wheels,  she  could  see  Ambry  quite 
plainly  coming  up  the  staircase,  with  that  high  head 
she  knew  so  well  each  trick  of,  with  those  bold,  full 
charming  eyes,  looking  past  Lady  Juliet,  tired  and 
distinguished,  with  a  splendid  diamond  crown  too  heavy 
for  her — looking  past  his  hostess,  ruthlessly,  definitely, 


90  THE  IMMORTAL  GYMNASTS 

with  a  vivid  intent  and  purpose,  but  looking  for  what? 
For  a  tall  girl  with  curling,  red  lips  and  dark  eyes,  her 
flexible  waist  and  long,  slender,  beautifully  shaped  legs 
bound  in  the  tight  green  sheath  of  satin,  recognizable 
by  an  initiate  as  the  latest  thing  in  ball-gowns,  but  re- 
calling, to  a  detached  observer,  nothing  so  much  as 
the  delicate  wrappings  of  certain  flower-stalks.  .  .  . 
Estelle ! 

"  Now  I  must  stop,  I  must  stop,"  murmurs  Anie, 
sitting  up  in  bed.  "  I  must  hold  tight  to  Varian  and 
to  what  he  told  me.  I  wish  I  were  proud.  I  wish  I 
could  feel  outraged  and  insulted.  Estelle  would,  in 
my  place,  but  such  a  thing  could  never  happen  to  her." 
A  tiny  star  of  a  nightlight  wavered  and  trembled  in 
the  whispering  current  of  air  from  the  large,  black 
night-pools  framed  in  each  of  the  opened  windows.  The 
small  white  figure,  trailing  its  billowy  garment,  let  itself 
down  from  the  high  bed,  moved  quickly,  with  bare, 
cold  feet,  without  the  slightest  noise,  to  a  great 
wardrobe,  opened  it  gently,  drew  out  a  dressing-bag, 
fumbling  among  the  gold-stoppered  vials.  .  .  .  Back 
in  bed,  with  those  innocent-looking  white  pellets  in  your 
hand.  There,  between  your  fingers,  you  hold  dreams 
and  forgetfulness.  You  hold  the  keys  to  sleep,  to 
delicious,  indescribable  sensations  that  steal  away  your 
pain,  your  soreness,  all  the  fever  of  your  wounded  soul. 
Should  she  take  them  now  instead  of  fighting?  The 
time  until  dawn  would  seem  so  long,  so  hag-ridden,  lying 
here  alone  in  the  great  bed,  in  the  strange  room,  in  the 
silent  old  house.  No  roar  of  London  in  that  whispering, 
flower-sweet  breeze  from  the  shrub-filled  garden;  no 
rattle  of  distant  cabs,  no  hoarse  gurgling  of  the  motor 


THE  IMMORTAL  GYMNASTS  91 

as  it  sets  you  down  in  Belgrave  Square.  Estelle  would 
dance  till  sunrise.  How  lovely  the  light  always  looked 
across  the  great  feathery  trees  as  you  drive  home  down 
Park  Lane !  He  would  be  close  to  Estelle  and  to  cross, 
sleepy  mamma,  saying  good-night  before  striking  off  for 
Wilton  Place.  He  liked  the  walk — the  cool  morning  air 
after  a  hot  dance.  .    .   . 

She  threw  herself  back  on  her  pillows,  and  held  the 
white  pellets  to  her  mouth.  Only  swallow  them,  and  in 
two  minutes  London  and  Ambry,  Ambry  and  Estelle 
would  fade  and  dwindle  and  perish,  wiped  away  from 
your  consciousness,  painlessly,  deliciously,  as  if  by  a 
large,  moist  sponge  of  exquisite,  icy  freshness.  But  the 
child  still  had  some  fight  left  in  her.  She  dropped  her 
closed  hand  on  the  bed.  She  wrenched  her  mind  away 
from  its  obsession,  and  remembered  where  she  was — in 
Varian's  house,  in  Varian's  mother's  house — that  kind, 
gentle  Gita  who  had  kissed  her  good-night  with  her  soft 
mouth — how  many  hours  ago  was  that?  Oh,  ages! 
To-morrow  Varian  would  be  down.  How  could  she  meet 
him  as  she  knew  she  would  be — sallow,  heavy-eyed, 
broken,  and  fidgety,  because  the  after-effects  of  the  drug 
never  really  wore  off  till  towards  night  ?  It  was  cowardly 
to  take  it.  If  she  fought  now,  she  would  be  stronger 
next  time.  She  was  doing  it  for  Varian's  sake.  This 
was  Varian's  house,  Varian's  mother's  house.  She  re- 
peated this  sentence  over  and  over,  making  a  mystical 
little  sing-song  tune  of  it,  the  words  limping  through 
her  tired  brain,  losing  their  meaning  on  the  way.  .  .  . 
How  deliciously  drowsy  she  was  beginning  to  feel !  How 
cool  and  soft  the  air !  It  was  blowing  straight  in  on  her 
forehead,  blowing  in — blowing  in — blowing  into  Varian's 


93  THE  IMMORTAL  GYMNASTS 

mother's  house.  The  little  head  sank  lower  and  lower, 
its  coils  of  dark  hair  streaming  out  on  either  side  of 
the  indentation  in  the  pillow.  In  her  sleep,  the  closed 
hand  uncurled,  the  white  pellets  rolled  unheeded  out  of 
the  rosy  palm.  What  a  hunt  she  had  for  them  in  the 
morning,  waking  up  fresh  and  clear-eyed,  thirsty  for 
her  cup  of  tea !  It  was  a  rush  to  be  dressed  by  ten  when 
good  Miss  Peet-Byng  was  to  show  her  the  garden. 
Before  she  went  down,  however,  she  emptied  a  cer- 
tain little  vial,  holding  dangerous  keys  to  dangerous 
pleasures,  into  the  wood  fire  that  had  been  lighted 
in  the  lacquer  dressing-room  to  take  off  the  morning 
chill. 

The  broad,  shallow  stairs  lead  you,  with  a  proper 
stately  bend,  into  the  large  hall,  furnished  and  used  as 
an  antechamber.  Several  good  French  chairs  are  drawn 
up  near  low  tables,  each  carrying  its  reading-lamp; 
bookcases  have  been  fitted  in  at  the  sides  of  the  fire- 
place, and  mellow  lines  of  gilded  calf  meet  the  eye 
pleasantly,  their  classic  ranks  broken  at  just  the  right 
intervals  by  bold  blocks  of  jaunty,  yellow-uniformed 
soldiers  of  fortune  from  across  the  Channel.  Glass 
doors  and  French  windows  open  at  the  front  on  the 
rounded  steps  of  the  portico  and  the  long,  green,  park- 
like vista  of  the  drive ;  at  the  rear,  on  the  flagged  ter- 
race, cut  into  bricked  steps  that  fall  steeply  away  to 
the  gardens,  the  rose-alleys,  the  shrub  tunnels,  the  box 
bosquets,  shimmering,  odorous  and  aromatic,  gold  and 
crimson,  white  and  mauve  and  orange  under  the  summer 
sun. 

Anie,  looking  like  a  child  in  a  blue  linen  frock, 
found    Miss    Peet-Byng    waiting    for    her,    nervously 


THE  IMMORTAL  GYMNASTS 93 

twisting  a  pair  of  garden  scissors  in  her  long,  gouty 
fingers. 

"  Did  you  sleep  well,  my  dear  ?  "  she  asked,  a  gen- 
uine, gentle  interest  in  what  she  was  saying  lending 
dignity  to  the  banal  phrase. 

"  Better  than  for  nights  and  nights.  I  love  your 
wonderful  air  blowing  in  on  my  face.  And  Aunt  Gita? 
Have  you  seen  her  this  morning?  " 

"  Oh,  no,  she  does  not  see  anyone  till  luncheon,  but 
she  never  forgets  to  send  me  a  little  pencilled  scrawl, 
saying  that  all  is  well  with  her."  You  were  aware  that 
the  faithful  Peet-Byng  treasured  these  flying  slips, 
regarding  their  bestowal  in  the  light  of  an  accolade 
from  her  sovereign.  Good,  faithful,  gouty  Peetybee! 
Her  boy  would  be  down  this  afternoon,  and,  her  heart 
singing  as  it  beats,  she  takes  his  pale  little  cousin  in 
tow  with  more  than  her  usual  tremulous  anxiety  to 
shelter  and  to  be  of  service. 

"  Shall  we  go  out  in  the  garden  now?  I  will  take  a 
basket,  in  case  you  may  want  to  pick  anything,  and  the 
scissors."  While  talking,  the  good  lady  was  busily 
pinning  on  her  head,  well  over  her  eyes,  a  large,  black 
hat  shaped  like  an  inverted  porridge-bowl. 

"Hat?"  she  murmured  interrogatively,  looking  at 
the  beautiful  dense  cloud  of  the  girl's  hair. 

"  No ;  one  of  these  sunshades,  if  I  may,"  replied  Anie, 
picking  out  a  big,  flat,  green  one  with  a  charming  bam- 
boo stick. 

"  A  book,  too  ?  "  suggests  Miss  Peet-Byng,  "  for 
when  I  have  once  settled  you,  you  won't  want  me 
pottering  about."  Her  eye  caught  a  small  volume  that 
had  slipped  behind  a  cushion  in  one  of  the  chairs. 


94  THE  IMMORTAL  GYMNASTS 

"  The  very  thing  to  talk  to  Varian  about  this  after- 
noon. He  left  it  here  last  week.  Shall  I  bring  it 
along  ?  " 

Anie  smiled  her  unnecessary  assent.  So  she  must 
pretend  to  be  interested  in  this  cadaverous  sixteenth- 
century  Toledan  painter,  since  Varian  evidently  was. 
The  girl  visibly  brightened,  as  they  stepped  out  on  the 
terrace,  for  what  youthful  ache  could  withstand  that 
charming  garden  scene,  lawn  upon  lawn,  flower-carpet 
upon  flower-carpet,  originally  planned  in  the  French 
style,  but  allowed  by  a  later,  whimsical,  feminine 
taste  to  be  invaded,  to  be  cut  into,  to  be  revolutionized 
by  impudent  creepers,  by  irregular  beds,  by  straggling 
cones  of  undipped  shrubs,  by  all  the  natural  aids  to  a 
mimic  wilderness  that  English  soil  and  English  damp- 
ness provide  with  such  ungrudging  prodigality?  Not 
Anie's  for  one. 

They  stood  together  for  a  moment  before  descending 
the  first  series  of  yellowish,  moss-covered,  weed-invaded 
steps. 

"  Here  you  may  think  green  thoughts  in  a  green 
shade,"  put  in  Bee  shyly,  as  the  girl  did  not  speak. 
"  There  is  scarcely  any  prospect,  but  who  wants  a  view 
nowadays?  One  can  get  that  almost  vulgarly  any- 
where. But  it  has  taken  a  hundred  and  fifty  years  of 
careful  clipping  to  produce  that  lime  tunnel.  It  is  too 
shady  and  damp  there  now,  in  the  morning,  before  the 
sun  strikes  it.  There  are  some  nice  basket  chairs  near 
the  Bois,  behind  the  calceolarias.  I  could  tuck  you  in 
there." 

They  walked  on  slowly,  Anie  twirling  her  parasol  on 
her  shoulder,  stopping  to  press  her  little  nose  against 


THE  IMMORTAL  GYMNASTS  95 


the  great  sun-warmed  roses,  petal  upon  petal  luxuriously 
uncurling  at  this  moment  of  perfect  maturity. 

"  How  like  a  theatre  for  a  pastoral ! "  exclaimed 
Anie,  as  they  came  at  last  from  behind  a  clump  of 
beeches  upon  an  oval  stretch  of  level  turf,  backed  by 
the  wood  they  called  the  Bois — a  thicket  of  young 
trees,  clipped  and  trained  into  the  similitude  of  a  high 
dense  wall  of  greenery  in  which  some  three,  semi- 
circular, doorlike  openings  had  been  cut  to  lead  the 
charmed  eye  down  as  many  tapering  sea-green  twilight 
vistas  to  the  customary  terme  at  the  end — Bacchus  with 
his  wineskin,  a  Faun  with  his  pipes,  Meleager  with  his 
hound — those  delightful  garden  subjects  of  doubtful 
merit  that  we  all  know  so  well,  and  yet  that  come  upon 
us  anew,  in  each  fresh  arrangement,  with  that  little 
shock  of  pleasure  in  their  inevitable  fitness  that  is 
the  surest  test  of  the  ultimate  sanity  of  Le  Notre's 
schemes. 

Anie  discovered  herself  a  willing  victim  to  this  green 
magic. 

"  What  a  duck  of  a  place ! "  she  breathed,  lifting 
eyes  less  stained  with  violet,  moving  softer  and  redder 
lips. 

Peetybee  beamed.  "  I  knew  you  would  like  it.  Your 
Aunt  Gita  found  nothing  better  than  this  in  Italy,  I  am 
sure.  It  would  be  the  very  place  for  a  midsummer- 
night's  play.  Such  charming  exits  and  entrances  as 
one  could  make,  flitting  in  and  out  of  those  little  green 
archways.  Stay  here  a  moment,  my  dear,  while  I  draw 
your  chair  nearer  the  cedar." 

"  But  what  are  these  extraordinary  flowers,  Miss 
Peet-Byng?  "     Anie  bent  over  a  curious,  deep,  wedge- 


96  THE  IMMORTAL  GYMNASTS 

shaped  bed  that  had  apparently  pushed  itself  into  the. 
left  corner  of  the  semicircle  formed  by  the  Bois. 

"  Oh,  those  are  the  calceolarias,"  replied  Peetybee 
rather  indistinctly,  engaged  as  she  was  in  struggling 
with  a  basket  chair  that  seemed  endowed  with  a  wholly 
malicious,  half-human  determination  to  cling  to  the 
soil  with  all  four  of  its  foolish,  knoblike,  wicker  feet. 

Anie  gazed  a  trifle  disdainfully  at  the  bed,  remember- 
ing the  warm,  soft,  odorous  roses,  for  these  curious 
flowers,  shaped  like  a  witch's  pocket,  have  a  certain 
repellent,  sinister,  animal  look  about  them.  With  their 
swollen  pendulous  lips  they  might  be  secret  poison-bags 
into  which  small,  night-hawking  creatures  might  dip 
tongue  or  snout.  In  the  mass,  what  earthy,  twilight 
colours  they  show!  They  run  to  dull  browns,  to  ashy 
violets,  and  to  all  the  tones  of  clay,  each  blossom  blotched 
and  freckled  with  spots  of  orange  or  of  golden  bronze, 
almost  like  an  eruption  of  disease. 

"  Horrid  things  1 "  said  Anie,  "  they  make  me  shiver." 
She  turned  away,  furling  her  green  sunshade  as  she 
spoke. 

"  Stick  this  in  your  frock  as  an  antidote,"  said  Bee, 
handing  the  girl  a  long  sprig  of  heliotrope.  "  It  always 
seems  to  me  to  be  the  flower  of  our  grandmothers.  It 
is  fresh  and  faded  at  the  same  time.  If  one  may  so 
express  one's  self  about  an  odour,  I  should  be  tempted 
to  call  the  perfume  of  heliotrope  plaintive.  Did  you 
ever  think  of  it  in  that  way  ?  "  Peetybee  lifted  the 
basket  into  which  she  had  thrown  some  clippings  of  the 
flower  in  question,  with  its  flannelly  leaves,  its  char- 
acteristic dashes  of  rust-brown  among  the  violet. 

"  May  I  put  it  down  on  the  grass  beside  me  ?  "  asked 


THE  IMMORTAL  GYMNASTS  97 

Anie,  looking  up.  "  Yes,  so.  How  comfy  this  chair  is 
with  little  rests  for  my  feet  1 " 

"Are  you  quite  sure  you  will  not  be  bored  here? 
Shall  I  send  out  a  light  wrap?  Why  didn't  I  think  of 
it?  "  gently  fussed  Peetybee,  patting  and  pulling  Anie's 
linen  gown,  laying  for  an  instant  on  the  girl's  beautiful 
head  those  gouty  fingers  with  their  marvellously  tender 
touch. 

"  Dear  Miss  Peet-Byng,  I  have  everything  I  need. 
I  am  deliciously  lazy.  I  shall  sun  myself  here  like  a 
pussy-cat." 

"  I  am  so  glad.  I  will  send  word  to  you  a  half- 
hour  before  luncheon,  when  we  meet  in  the  breakfast- 
room." 

"  What  time  will  Varian  be  here?  "  asked  Anie,  know- 
ing that  she  would  feel  safer  when  she  saw  him,  better 
able  to  keep  down  certain  cravings,  to  give  fiercer  battle 
to  the  Children  of  the  Pit  once  he  held  her  hand  in  his 
cool,  firm  grasp. 

Bee's  face  softened  admirably,  with  the  wistful 
motherliness  of  elderly,  childless  women. 

"  My  old  boy,"  she  said,  quaintly  unconscious  of  the 
rather  rollicking  sound  of  the  phrase.  "  He  always 
tries  for  the  2.10.  That  brings  him  here  just  when  we 
are  idling  over  the  fruit  in  the  Green  Saloon  after 
luncheon.  Gita  dislikes  sitting  long  at  table,  and  we 
always  move  before  our  dessert,  our  fruit,  or  our  coffee, 
preferably  into  the  room  you  saw  last  night.  It  is  called 
green  on  account  of  those  little  parrots  in  the  pattern 
of  the  paper.  To  be  sure  one  scarcely  notices  them. 
But  how  I  ramble  on !    Good-bye,  my  dear." 

Anie  watched  the  tall,  lean  figure,  trailing  its  full, 


98  THE  IMMORTAL  GYMNASTS 

old-fashioned  black  silk  skirts  across  the  close-cropped 
grass. 

Languidly  at  first,  then  more  boldly,  more  vigorously, 
her  jarred  and  fatigued  senses  were  captured  by  those 
airy  garden  sprites  that  lie  in  wait  for  us  in  all  shady, 
tranquil  spots,  hanging  rosy  shades  before  our  eyes, 
ringing  faint,  far,  dizzying,  flower-bell  music  in  our 
ears,  stupefying  us  gently  with  odours  as  spicy  as  the 
East,  brushing  our  lips  with  golden  honeydrops,  tying 
our  idle  hands  with  gossamer  ribbons,  binding  our  weary 
feet  with  cool,  mossy  sandals.  So  we  lie  there,  in  their 
power,  believing  ourselves,  nevertheless,  to  be  quite  free 
agents,  although  uncommonly  disinclined  to  move,  and 
rather  sleepy. 

Varian,  meanwhile,  in  Cambridge  Street,  with  rumpled 
hair  and  nervous  eye,  was  furiously  engaged  at  his 
writing-table,  numbering  and  checking  up  his  proofs, 
pasting  thereon  those  little  slips  in  his  small,  close  hand- 
writing, managing  his  tools — his  ink,  his  scissors,  his 
paste — with  an  energy  born  of  a  restless  night,  the 
consciousness  of  neglected  work,  and  a  certain  very 
definite  determination  to  reach  Wimbledon  as  early  as 
possible. 

The  afternoon  before  he  had  sat  idly  here,  as  it  drew 
on  toward  six  o'clock,  imaginatively  intent  upon  his 
mother's  interview  with  Lady  Cassock.  Would  she 
come  down  presently  with  that  pale  girl  tucked  under 
her  protecting  arm?  He  realized  now,  for  the  first 
time,  how  much  he  had  counted  on  the  success  of  his 
plan  for  removing  Anie  from  London.  What  a  fool 
he  had  been  not  to  ask  his  mother  to  telegraph  him! 
As  she  refused   all  intercourse  with  a  telephone,  and 


THE  IMMORTAL  GYMNASTS  99 

refused  to  have  one  installed  in  the  house,  he  could  not 
"  get"  her  in  that  way.  But  if  she  had  been  baulked 
of  Anie,  she  would  have  come  around  here  to  him. 
She  had  not  done  so,  therefore  all  was  well.  He  felt 
too  engrossed  in  his  own  affairs  to  be  able  to  work 
with  any  insight  upon  those  of  the  vague  little 
Siennese  genius  he  was  at  that  moment  supposed 
to  be  cutting  out  from  Simone  Martini's  puzzling 
shadow. 

He  fidgeted  at  the  window.  The  heavy,  golden, 
dust-laden  London  air  hung  in  the  gently-swaying  tops, 
of  the  trees  in  the  Square.  He  had  become  too  restless 
to  kick  about  his  rooms.  He  felt  suddenly  bored  to 
intensity  with  his  surroundings.  At  that  moment  he 
desired  ardently  never  to  see  again  that  heavily-laden 
table,  those  notebooks,  the  lamp,  the  rug,  the  fire- 
place, the  photographs.  He  would  walk  it  off.  So 
through  that  long,  misty,  incomparably  soft  twilight 
he  idled  down  one  long  street  after  another,  making 
mechanically  for  the  river,  coming  out  upon  it  near 
Battersea  Bridge.  He  leaned  on  the  parapet  near  a 
man  in  brown  velveteens,  and  let  the  greasy,  grey-green 
flood  carry  him  away  to  that  sparkling  sea  wherein 
you  embark  in  any  fanciful,  golden  galley  that  hap- 
pens to  take  your  eye,  each  one  ready  manned  and 
provisioned  for  no  matter  what  mad,  youthful  quest. 
The  potent  smoke  from  the  ancient  pipe  of  the  in- 
dividual in  velveteen  beginning  to  steal  rather  too 
insistently  over  Varian's  senses — it  was  perfectly  good 
tobacco,  only  somewhat  stronger  than  you  cared  to 
smoke  yourself — Varian  hailed  a  loitering  taxi,  and, 
healthy  appetite  sending  no  uncertain  message,  he  was 


100  THE  IMMORTAL  GYMNASTS 

presently  facing  a  very  complete  little  meal  in  a  quiet 
place  he  knew  of. 

Several  hours  later,  digging  his  pillows  savagely  be- 
cause they  were  too  soft  and  too  hot — sleepless,  rest- 
less, nervous,  Varian  told  himself  that  he  had  eaten  too 
much.  Perhaps  he  had;  but  that  was  not  the  reason 
for  his  white  night.  Down  at  Wimbledon,  in  a  large, 
cool,  shadowy  room,  was  there  a  small,  dark  head  on 
the  pillow?  Was  Anie  sleeping  in  his  mother's  house? 
Was  she  dreaming  of  Ambry — confound  him! — with 
the  tears  drying  on  her  lashes?  The  boy  lay  still, 
with  his  arms  folded,  thinking  of  her  intently,  of  the 
girl  who,  at  that  very  moment,  had  seemed  to  catch 
hold  of  his  hand,  to  beg  him  to  help  her,  there  in 
Wimbledon,  to  fight  a  little  longer.  .  .  .  Could  he  help 
her  without  knowing  it?  It  seemed  so,  for  he,  too, 
there  in  London,  had  fallen  asleep  just  as  those  small 
fingers  had  relaxed  enough  to  allow  certain  innocent- 
looking  white  pellets  to  roll  out  upon  the  sheet. 

Anie  was  in  the  act  of  making  a  feeble  dash  at  an 
obstinate  and  intrusive  bee,  when  Varian  came  up 
quickly  behind  her,  and  laid  firm,  friendly  hands  for  an 
instant  on  her  shoulders. 

"How  much  more  than  jolly  to  find  you  here!"  he 
exclaimed,  throwing  himself  on  the  grass  by  the  side 
of  her  chair.  "  Let  me  look  at  you.  How  did  you 
sleep?  Did  they  make  you  comfortable?  Peetybee 
loves  you  already."  He  clasped  his  knees  with  his 
hands,  and  looked  her  over  carefully.  Yes,  the  cheeks 
were  a  shade  less  pale,  the  violet  smudges  around  the 
eyes  less  dark.  It  was  working.  He  felt,  at  once, 
singularly  boyish  and  happy,  if  not  slightly  silly.    As 


THE  IMMORTAL  GYMNASTS,     ,   ,   101. 


a  matter  of  fact,  in  this  mood,  he  was  more  than  ever 
Van  Dyck's  Young  Wharton. 

Anie  smiled  at  him.  "  Oh,  Varian,  your  mother  and 
the  house !  I  have  the  lacquer  dressing-room  " — he 
nodded,  as  if  he  knew  she  would — "  and  Peetybee,  and 
the  garden,  and  this  identical  wicker  chair,  are  the 
most  delightfully  good  and  comfortable  things,  I  feel 
hundreds  of  miles  away  from  London.  But,"  sitting 
up  and  dragging  her  scant  linen  frock  down  to  her 
ankles,  "  are  you  not  down  earlier  than  you  expected 
to  be?  Oh,  Varian,  don't  tell  me  that  they  forgot  to 
send  for  me  and  that  I  have  missed  my  luncheon!  I 
am  so  hungry.  I  could  eat  this — parasol.  You  see, 
it  is  just  the  colour  of  lettuce." 

They  laughed  with  the  happy  ease  of  youth.  Varian 
jumped  up,  gathered  together  her  belongings,  sniffing 
at  the  basket  of  heliotrope,  so  that  Anie  gave  him  her 
own  particular  spray.  He  said  it  was  all  the  better  for 
being  undeniably  and  shamelessly  wilted. 

"  You  behold  in  me,"  he  announced,  "  the  messenger 
Peetybee  promised  you  when  luncheon  should  begin  to 
loom  large  upon  the  domestic  horizon.  They  told  me 
an  hors  d'oeuvre  had  been  signalled  as  I  came  in.  How 
jolly  it  is  to  have  you  here  with  mother!  " 

Varian's  vocabulary  dwindled  when  he  became  emo- 
tional, as  he  was  apt  to  when  he  looked  at  Anie,  but 
his  tone  and  his  glance  provided  all  the  commentary 
necessary. 

The  little  lady  evidently  thought  so,  not  being  a  great 
talker  herself.  They  snipped  roses  recklessly  on  the 
way  to  the  house,  because  Varian  said  they  were  lovely 
in  her  arms  against  her  blue  frock,  so  obedient  Anie 


102  THE  IMMORTAL  GYMNASTS 

clasped  a  soft,  fragrant,  somewhat  prickly  pink  mass 
upon  her  breast  in  order  to  please  his  eye. 

"  Look,  Bee,  there  they  come,"  said  Gita,  standing 
on  the  terrace,  dressed  in  some  cream-coloured  stuff, 
all  delicate  loops  and  drooping  folds  and  embroidered 
scallops,  in  a  mode  quite  peculiar  to  herself,  but  very 
graceful  and  becoming. 

"  How  are  you,  dear?  Ready  for  something  to  eat? 
You  slept?  You  were  comfortable?  Page  wasn't  too 
stupid  and  countrified  ?  "  She  moved  forward  with  her 
languid  step  to  hold  the  girl's  chin  lightly  in  her  cool 
fingers,  smiling  at  her  with  soft,'  dark,  myopic  eyes. 
Varian  put  his  arm  around  his  mother,  and  the  three 
stood  thus  linked  for  a  moment. 

"  I  have  been  telling  Varian  how  beautiful  every- 
thing is,  and  how  sweet  you  are  to  me.  In  London —  " 
the  girl  drew  a  long  breath  of  relief — "  I  felt  as  if  I 
were  attaced  to  a  wire,  that  some  horrid  ogre  jiggled 
and  twiddled  till  I  danced  to  his  tune.  But  here,  in 
this  lovely  garden,  where  it  is  so  quiet,  with  nothing 
but  roses  and  bees,  I  feel  as  if  I  could  go  to  sleep  so 
happily  for  a  hundred  years." 

They  had  been  moving  slowly  in  the  direction  of  the 
house  while  Anie  was  speaking,  and  now  Varian  and 
his  mother  exchanged  a  glance  of  camaraderie  over  her 
innocent  head.  Gita  was  pleased  that  her  boy's  little 
plot  was  succeeding  so  well,  and  Varian's  heart  seemed, 
as  it  beat,  to  melt  into  myriad-coloured  dancing  waves 
that  would  give  you  that  choky  feeling  in  your  throat, 
if  you  let  them  wash  up  too  high. 

Bee  marched  them  into  the  breakfast-room,  wishing 
that  she  could  express  her  pleasure  in  her  boy's  early 


THE  IMMORTAL  GYMNASTS  103 

arrival  by  the  fabrication  of  some  astounding  dish. 
But  it  was  too  late  for  that  now.  Nevertheless,  one 
did  not  get  such  strawberries  every  day.  She  threw  a 
satisfied  glance  at  their  grotesquely  swollen  forms  on 
their  cushion  of  bright  leaves,  in  their  sumptuous  Vene- 
tian barca, 

"  Let  us  take  our  fruit  in  the  Green  Saloon,"  said 
Gita,  when  the  more  workmanlike  portion  of  the  meal 
had  been  disposed  of.  "  One  becomes  so  tired  of  sitting 
up  straight.     You  may  smoke,  Varian.     Does  Anie?" 

"  Oh,  no ;  mamma  and  Estelle  do,  but  it  makes  my 
lips  puff  up,  and  I  really  do  not  care  for  it.  Do  you, 
Gita?" 

"  Occasionally,  when  I  have  a  headache." 

Varian  settled  his  mother  on  her  sofa  with  its  large, 
pale  pomegranate  silk  cushions.  Her  fragile  figure, 
half-submerged  in  its  cream  batiste,  had  the  effect  of 
some  ailing  or  wounded  bird,  lying  there  in  its  white 
ruffled  plumage. 

Varian  kissed  her  hand.  Peetybee  had  disappeared 
on  some  dark,  domestic  errand  of  her  own,  and  Anie 
wandered  about  the  room,  examining  the  little  green 
parrots  that  clawed  their  fantastic  way  up  the  wall- 
paper, reappearing  again,  but  subdued,  de-parrotized, 
as  it  were,  in  the  pattern  of  the  hangings. 

"  How  is  the  Simone  Martini  coming  on  ?  "  inquired 
Gita. 

Varian  wrinkled  a  placid  brow.  "  Rather  scrubbily. 
It  is  awfully  hard  digging.  Fortescue  put  us  on  the 
trail,  but  there  is  next  to  nothing  to  go  on.  We  don't 
even  know  the  little  man's  name,  so  we  call  him  Martini 
fi,  like  a  submarine.     But  his  work  is  certainly  there. 


104  THE  IMMORTAL  GYMNASTS 

You  catch  his  touch  every  once  and  a  while,  oh,  un- 
mistakably. He  was  very  personal,  with  curious  little 
tricks  that  Martini  never  had.  For  one  thing,  you 
notice  the  extraordinary  way  he  saw  and  painted  heels. 
He  may  have  had  an  odd  one  himself " 

"  And  people  teased  him  about  it,"  suggested  Anie, 
sidling  up  to  lean  on  the  back  of  Gita's  sofa.  "  I  know 
about  that  myself,  for  everyone  says  my  heels  are  too 
small — horrid,  bootmaker  people,  I  mean." 

"  Martini  /3  would  have  pleased  them  then,"  re- 
turned Varian,  "  for  his  are  always  too  big.  He  paints 
them,  in  profile,  with  a  straight,  almost  square  protu- 
berance.    But  it  places  him,  by  Jove." 

"  This  new  method  of  detective  criticism  that  you 
young  people  are  launched  on  bristles  with  pitfalls,  it 
seems  to  me,"  said  his  mother.  "  You  build  up  a  most 
imposing  scaffolding  on  the  flimsiest  of  foundations, 
and  we  ignorant  ones  are  supposed  to  stand  about, 
moonstruck,  open-mouthed,  and  swallow  you  whole. 
Indigestible,  stony  morsels  you  make  sometimes,  I  must 
confess.  Is  this  what  they  want  in  London,  this  Frank- 
ensteinlike fabrication  of  an  ancient  Siennese,  who, 
doubtless,  never  existed  save  in  Rossiter  Fortescue's 
restless  brain?  I  should  like  to  take  all  you  over- 
subtle  young  men  and  bury  you — oh,  not  together,  for 
you  would  talk  interminably — but  separately  in  some 
tiny  Apennine  villages  I  know  of,  to  live  as  the  peasants, 
to  dig  in  that  rich,  old  earth,  to  breathe  that  golden  air, 
to  eat  that  coarse  food " 

"  Garlic ! "  murmured  Varian,  with  a  tragic  gesture, 
"  0  thou  Spartan  mother ! " 

"  — and  to  throw  yourself  on  your  back  at  night,  too 


THE  IMMORTAL  GYMNASTS  105 

healthily  tired  and  beaten  to  spin  theories.  After  six 
months  of  that  you  would  have  a  glimpse  of  the  true, 
living  Italy — the  same  that  bred  Martini,  and  then, 
perhaps,  your  criticism  would  be  human,  vital,  vigorous, 
blood-filled,  not  the  anaemic,  microscopic,  patient,  pid- 
dling, antlike  kind  of  the  present  day." 

Gita,  interested  in  her  theme,  smiling,  animated, 
raised  herself  on  her  pillows  to  find  her  hands  im- 
prisoned in  Varian's,  his  eager  young  face  close  to  hers. 

"  Bravo,  maman,  you  did  that  splendidly.  Now  will 
you  kindly  be  so  good  as  to  tell  me  where  you  stole 
your  thunder?  What  Olympian,  in  other  words,  has 
been  tearing  Rossiter  up  the  back?  The  hounds  of 
winter  are  on  spring's  traces — that  plays  the  deuce 
with  the  metre,  but  makes  my  meaning  clear — those 
old  wintry — spaniels  the  ■  Friday  Review '  keeps 
chained  up  in  its  editorial  office  to  snap  and  yap  at 
our  young  champion  who  goes  out  a-tilting  with  vine- 
leaves  in  his  hair.  Fortescue  for  ever !  What  have  you 
been  reading?  Confess!  You  know  you  were  the  dear- 
est, most  interested  little  person  last  week  when  I  told 
you  about  the  work,  and  now — before  Anie,  too,  by 
Jove! — you  let  fly  a  deadly  dart  at  your  only  son. 
Where,  oh  where  is  that  'Friday  Review'?  I  could 
swear  they  have  been  at  it  again.  Come,  be  a  woman, 
confess ! " 

Rosy,  laughing  like  a  girl,  Gita  parries  his  arms, 
only   to  fall  into  them  at  last. 

"  Oh,  my  child,  how  you  make  your  old  mother's 
heart  beat!  Perhaps  I  may  as  well  tell  you  that 
Blackfoot  has,  as  it  happens,  a  little  notice  in  the 
1  Review  ' " 


106  THE  IMMORTAL  GYMNASTS 

"Ha,  ha,  so  it's  he,  is  it — that  ancient,  hoary  man? 
Speak  up,  cara  mia,  do  you  believe  in  your  Varian 
again?  " 

How  charming  they  were  together,  thought  poor 
Anie,  a  forlorn  little  beggar  at  love's  gates.  A  crush- 
ing nostalgia  came  over  her,  for  a  mother's  arms  like 
Gita's,  a  brother's  arms  like  Varian's.  She  resolutely 
shut  out  what  Ambry's  arms  might  have  been.  She 
could  not  bear  that  yet.  Would  they  never  look  at 
her?  A  little  more  and  a  tear  would  run  down  her 
nose,  she  felt  sure.  As  she  slipped  away  from  behind 
the  sofa,  Varian,  catching  her  eye,  noted  the  droop 
of  the  young  shoulders,  the  significance  of  that  bent 
head. 

Heavens,  what  a  fool  he  had  been  making  of  him- 
self! Poor  child,  she  was  very  sore  still,  and  must  be 
tended,  oh,  so  gently.  He  would  have  liked,  in  pure 
brotherliness,  to  put  his  cheek  against  hers.  She 
needed  petting.  He  must  see  that  she  got  it  some- 
where. Here  Gita  began  to  use  some  motherly  intui- 
tion. Snuggling  her  slender  body  deeper  into  the  wide, 
old  sofa,  she  made  a  soft  nest  in  front  of  her,  within 
the  scope  of  her  arms,  to  which  she  drew  the  small, 
forlorn,  blue  figure  that  had  wandered  off  to  recom- 
mence a  rather  blurred  examination  of  those  hateful 
parrots. 

"  Come  here,  Anie  dear,  I  want  to  look  at  you. 
Sit  down.  See,  I  have  made  heaps  of  room."  She 
pulled  the  girl  gently  to  her  and  clasped  her  hands 
around  her  waist.  Varian  sat  on  a  stool  and  smiled  at 
her.  So  little  Anie  became  warm  and  almost  happy 
again,  expanding  in  the  deep,  fresh,  tranquil  atmos- 


THE  IMMORTAL  GYMNASTS  107 

phere  in  which  these  two,  this  mother  and  son,  had 
their  spiritual  being. 

"  Mother,  tell  us  what  we  are  to  play  at  this  after- 
noon, Anie  and  I,"  began  Varian,  twiddling  a  scallop 
of  his  parent's  gown. 

"  So  I  have  two  babes  on  my  hands  to  amuse,  have 
I?  We  must  consult  your  Peetybee,  who  is  a  mine  of 
information  as  to  innocent  sports.  Do  you  want  the 
car?  " 

Anie  made  a  little  face. 

"So  that's  settled.  She  won't  play  that,"  said 
Varian.  "What  next?  Tennis  would  tire  her  small 
chest,  and " 

Anie  leaned  forward  with  her  hair  in  her  eyes,  look- 
ing amazingly  like  the  child  who  used  to  hang  around 
him  at  Crops,  with  her  stick  of  an  arm  hooked  in  his, 
and  her  general  leggy  look  of  a  young  colt. 

"Did  you  think  of  Crops,  then,  Varian?"  said  she. 

"  I  did,  but  how  did  you  know?  " 

"  Because  I  saw  in  your  eye  that  you  were  saying 
to  yourself — '  Years  ago,  at  Crops,  I  used  to  go  out  to 
a  green  bench  in  the  thicket  in  the  garden  with  some 
big,  wise  book,  and  out  of  it  I  used  to  read — oh, 
for  hours — to  the  quietest,  the  most  intelligent  of 
little  girls  ' — which  was — me!  "  ended  Anie  triumph- 
antly. 

Gita  squeezed  her  gently  and  laughed.  "  There  you 
are,  Varian.  She  has  settled  it  for  herself.  Take 
cushions  out  to  the  cedars.  That  is  the  best  spot 
for  the  early  afternoon.  The  chairs  are  already 
there.  Then  at  four,  or  half-past,  come  round  to  the 
Bois,  where  tea  and  Bee  and  I  will  be  awaiting  you." 


108  THE  IMMORTAL  GYMNASTS 

"Won't  you  come  with  us  now?"  asked  Anie,  "or 
must  you  lie  down?  " 

"  Oh,  no,  but  I  have  a  thousand  odd  little  ravellings 
to  pick  up,  and  a  regiment  of  unanswered  letters  is 
manoeuvring  all  over  my  writing-table " 

"  She  does  not  love  us,  Anie,"  remarked  Varian 
solemnly,  getting  to  his  feet.  "  You  were  the  shocked 
young  female  spectator  only  a  few  moments  ago  of  how 
she  turned  on  me — O  savage  mamma !  We  won't  whine 
for  her  favours,  not  we.  What  shall  the  book  be? 
You  choose.  Something  venerable,  and  not  too  excit- 
ing, please,  so  that  you  will  feel  like  interrupting  in  the 
middle  of  every  page  to  talk  to  me.  I  enjoy  being 
talked  to.  Come,  speak  out ! "  He  menaced,  with  a 
would-be  ferocious  eye,  the  pretty  entwined  pair  on  the 
sofa. 

"  Tell  me  something,  Gita,"  urged  Anie. 

"  Ah,  yes,  that  reminds  me,"  replied  Gita.  "  Varian, 
hand  me  that  package  on  the  table.  No,  the  one  behind 
the  screen.  This  is  something  that  Raoul  has  just  sent 
over  from  Paris — a  catalogue  raisonne  of  some  Japa- 
nese drawings,  eighteenth  century.  See,  they  are  really 
quite  charming.  Would  that  amuse  you  ?  "  looking  up 
at  her  children  standing  obediently  in  front  of  her. 

"  The  very  thing,"  said  Anie,  while  Varian  tucked 
the  book  under  his  arm.  "  A  bientot,  maman"  kissing 
her  hand. 

"  Oh,  wait  one  moment,"  cried  Gita,  as  they  reach 
the  door.  "  Anie  dear,  do  you  remember  that  we  meant 
to  tell  Varian  of  that  delightful  milk-and-cream  shop 
arranged  so  beautifully,  the  eggs  in  their  little  plaited 
baskets,  all  of  it  so  fresh  and  sweet?  " 


THE  IMMORTAL  GYMNASTS  109 

"  When  did  you  see  it?  " 

"  When  Anie  and  I  were  leaving  Belgrave  Square 
yesterday  afternoon.  But  what  was  the  name  of  the 
street  ?" 

"  It  was  some  title,  wasn't  it,  Gita?  " 

"  Oh,  yes,  Countess — Countess  Street.  Do  you  hap- 
pen to  know  it,  Varian?  " 

"  Vaguely,  I  think.  I  have  patrolled  that  neighbour- 
hood rather  thoroughly  at  one  time  and  another.  But 
what  am  I  to  do  with  the  shop?  Go  in  and  buy  an  egg 
to  eat  with  my  tea  ?  " 

"  You  must  hunt  it  up,"  said  Anie,  "  because  in 
the  back  windows — it  is  a  little  house,  you  know — 
there  are  such  odd  curtains,  and  I  saw  a  very  pretty 
woman  waiting  on  the  shop.  We  are  sure  it  is  not  an 
ordinary  place  at  all." 

"  So  I  am  to  go  to  Countess  Street,  ogle  the  curtains 
from  across  the  road,  and  the  fair  dairymaid  at  closer 
quarters " 

"  Exactly,"  said  his  mother,  "  and,  to  break  the  ice, 
you  are  to  say  that  you  have  a  foolish  little  parent 
whose  extraordinary  cows  give  more  excellent  milk  than 
she  knows  what  to  do  with,  and  that  you  are  on  the 
look-out  for  a  philanthropic  and  intelligent  dairymaid 
(here,  I  leave  it  to  you  to  intimate  that  you  see  before 
you  the  embodiment  of  this  ideal),  who,  for  a  considera- 
tion, will  receive  our  daily  surplus  and  dole  it  out  to 
deserving,  poor,  skinny,  unwholesome  London  cats,  and 
to  the  same  type  of  underfed  babes  of  the  neighbour- 
hood.   What  do  you  think  of  that  for  a  scheme?  " 

"Ripping,  really,"  cried  Varian.  "I'll  hunt  the 
place  up  the  moment  I  reach  town.     It  may  seem  a 


110  THE  IMMORTAL  GYMNASTS 

trifle  irregular  on  closer  inspection,  but  that  makes  it 
only  the  more  engaging.  Anie,  the  cedars  yawn  for 
us."     This  time  they  got  clear. 

"  No,  I  shall  hold  it  on  my  knees.  It  is  too  heavy  for 
you." 

"  But,  Varian,  it  can  rest  perfectly  on  my  lap.  I 
won't  feel  it  at  all,  because  I  am  practically  lying  down. 
Please ! "  Thus  they  gently  squabbled.  It  ended,  of 
course,  in  the  triumph  of  the  little  lady.  The  large, 
fair  pages  lay  outspread  on  the  blue  linen  lap.  Varian, 
on  the  grass  by  her  side,  leaned  over  to  turn  each  sheet 
with  a  masterful  finger  at  the  proper  time. 

They  were  too  much  occupied  with  the  drawings  to 
pay  any  attention  to  the  text,  and  no  wonder,  for 
Utamaro  knows  how  to  keep  your  eye.  On  those  strips 
of  thick,  dunnish  paper,  his  fair,  Japanese  women,  with 
the  blocked,  black  masses  of  their  dressed  heads,  make 
their  simple  little  gestures  so  absolutely  true  to  them- 
selves and  to  their  environment  that  they  become  types, 
or  ideas,  of  all  such  movements.  There  are  scenes  in 
the  open  air,  where  women  bathe,  or  fish,  or  boat,  their 
gracious  silhouettes  relieved  against  a  pattern  of  poles 
or  mooring-posts,  against  the  spread  of  nets,  or  some 
complication  of  masts  and  rigging.  An  autumnal  scene 
shows  the  gathering  of,  say,  quinces.  How  the  arms 
of  the  women  raised  to  catch  the  fruit  compose  with 
the  trellislike  branches  of  the  trees !  In  some  of  these 
little  figures  there  is  the  true  feeling  of  the  eight- 
eenth century,  as  it  expressed  itself  in  Europe — the 
same  delicate,  powdery,  frivolous  charm  hangs  about 
this  oriental  lover  and  his  lady,  stepping  daintily  in  a 


THE  IMMORTAL  GYMNASTS  111 

winter  garden,  the  snow  weighting  the  top  of  their 
coquettish  paper  parasol,  as  about  that  scene  on  the 
frozen  canal  at  Versailles  where  a  courtier  in  satin 
pushes  a  sled  with  its  pretty  silken  burden. 

So  they  looked  and  laughed,  and  wondered  and 
talked,  forgetting  the  book,  forgetting  the  garden,  but 
feeling  intensely  conscious  of  each  other — Anie,  with 
the  gratitude  of  a  lost  child  whose  little  cold  fingers 
are  gathered  into  a  strong,  warm  hand,  whose  weary 
young  body  is  lifted  high  against  a  broad,  protecting 
shoulder;  Varian,  with  the  sudden  knowledge  that  the 
wave  of  chivalrous  pity  that  had  driven  him  to  Gordon 
Square  was  changing,  had  changed,  into  the  deep- 
flowing,  full  tide  that  beat  impetuously  with  every 
pulsation  of  his  heart. 


CHAPTER  EIGHT 

A  WEEK  later  Countess  Street  was  drowsing  under 
the  heavy  advances  of  the  July  sun,  in  that  dead 
"  hour  of  the  day  just  before  four  o'clock.  The 
small  boy  in  the  knitted  suit,  the  only  person  in  sight, 
was  playing  a  feeble  game  with  a  languid,  underfed 
puppy  whose  too-long  tail  had  a  discouraging,  con- 
genital, mongrel  tendency  to  droop  between  his  sallow 
legs.  Columbine's  shop  on  the  corner,  with  its  green 
awning,  dappled  with  the  shadow  of  the  street's  solitary 
plane,  whenever  a  puff  of  wandering  air  set  its  large, 
loose  leaves  in  motion,  with  its  door  open  for  freshness, 
with  its  jars  of  sweet  peas  and  spiky  larkspur,  was  an 
irresistible  invitation  to  the  passer-by  to  loiter,  to  look, 
to  enter,  to  fall  a  victim  to  a  cream  cheese,  say,  because 
you  could  slip  that  rather  sheepishly  into  your  pocket, 
not  to  a  flagon  of  that  wonderful  milk,  simply  because 
you  couldn't  get  that  into  any  pocket  made  for  the 
modern  man — sheepishly  or  otherwise.  The  frank,  free, 
healthy,  quite  brazen  influence  of  the  little  shop  was 
such  that  you  desired  to  possess  yourself,  at  first  sight, 
of  everything  in  it. 

It  struck  Varian  in  exactly  this  way,  when,  turning 
into  Countess  Street  this  afternoon,  from  the  other 
end,  he  caught  the  bright  spot  made  in  the  hot,  deserted 
street  by  the  clear  paint,  the  green  awning,  the  rustling 
plane,  the  jugs  of  flowers,  and  the  cool,  dim  interior 
beyond  the  open  door.     This  was  manifestly  what  he 

113 


THE  IMMORTAL  GYMNASTS  113 

was  in  search  of.  London  could  not  afford  two  of 
them.  Before  he  went  in,  he  admired  the  excellent  dis- 
play of  neat  baskets  overflowing  with  large,  clean  eggs, 
or  with  tiny,  linen-swathed  cheeses,  the  jars  and  bowls 
of  milk  and  cream,  the  pats  of  butter,  fresh  as  cowslips, 
the  flowers,  the  few  monstrous  strawberries  in  their  nest 
of  leaves,  that  he  felt  must  have  been  introduced  solely 
for  their  colour,  since  painters  will  tell  you  how  a  dab 
of  crimson  can  be  made  to  speak — sometimes  to  beat 
the  big  drum — plump  in  the  middle  of  your  otherwise 
undistinguished  canvas.  Varian  stood  and  gazed  and 
smiled  to  himself,  thinking  of  Anie  and  of  his  mother, 
and  of  their  original  philanthropic  scheme  that  he  was 
about  to  father. 

Inside,  the  little  shop  was  spotless  but  deserted,  with 
its  broad,  white,  laden  shelves  that  ran  around  the 
walls,  its  miniature  counter  with  its  sparkling  scales 
and  its  piles  of  thin  paper  to  wrap  up  purchases,  its 
mounds  of  miniature  bags — to  hold  an  egg,  for  in- 
stance. The  knitted  boy  was  never  sent  for  more  than 
one  at  a  time,  and,  if  half  a  one  had  been  a  marketable 
commodity,  he  would  doubtless  have  lisped  a  request  for 
that,  looking  up  at  the  kind,  pretty,  motherly  Bina 
with  his  big,  fatigued  eyes. 

Varian  took  it  all  in  quietly  for  a  moment.  Perhaps 
when  the  door  was  closed  a  warning  bell  tinkled  your 
advent.  He  thought  he  caught  voices  and  laughter — 
such  a  clear  bell-note!  (real  tradespeople  could  not 
possibly  produce  it) — from  the  room  that  lay  behind 
the  one  in  which  he  stood.  A  morsel  of  glass  had  been 
let  into  a  panel  of  the  door,  on  a  level  with  the  normal 
eye.     He  made  a  discreet  clatter  with  his  stick.    Then 


114  THE  IMMORTAL  GYMNASTS 

he  heard  a  man's  pleasant  voice  say  quite  distinctly: 
"  Let  me  go.  You  will  burn  your  fingers.  Gently !  the 
brute  is  red-hot."  Then  a  low  murmur  that  he  could 
not  catch.  The  man's  voice  again :  "  My  dear  girl, 
do  you  suppose  I  can't  sell  an  egg  or  a  bit  of  cheese 
or  a  ha'penny'sworth  of  milk?  Listen,  and  you  will 
get  an  idea  of  how  the  thing  ought  really  to  be  done." 
Again  the  low,  happy  laughter,  as  the  door  was  pulled 
open  with  a  quick  turn  of  that  well-shaped  brown  hand, 
and  Quin  advanced,  carrying  his  tall,  slender,  perfectly- 
proportioned  body  with  the  rippling  rhythm  in  every 
line  that  betrays  unceasing  training  as  it  is  understood 
by  the  artist  and  the  expert. 

Varian  knew  him  instantly.  When  you  have  been 
privileged  to  meet  Harlequin,  even  for  a  moment, 
incognito,  you  are  not  likely  to  forget  the  fact. 

"  How  do  you  do  ?    I  blessed  you  for  that  match." 

Quin  was  as  ready  as  Varian.  He  had  a  delightful 
little  internal  throb  as  the  cloud-current  broke  from  its 
artificial  restraints.  What  happy  chance  could  have 
brought  the  boy  here? 

"  It  is  a  pleasure  to  help  a  fellow-smoker  in  distress. 
You  have  a  good  eye.  If  I  recollect  aright,  the  last 
time  we  met  I  was  unrecognizably  submerged,  I  should 
have  supposed,  in  my  humble  bath-towelling.  How  did 
you  know  me  again,  and  in  this  milieu?  "  Quin  cast 
an  amused  and  comprehensive  glance  at  the  serried 
ranks  of  dairy  products  that  hemmed  them  in  on  every 
side. 

"  Oh,  when  a  fellow  has  a  figure  like  yours,"  re- 
turned Varian  admiringly,  "  he  can't  disguise  it.  But 
— but  the — what  you  were  doing  before " 


THE  IMMORTAL  GYMNASTS  115 

"  Don't  try  to  spare  my  feelings,"  interrupted  Quin 
with  a  friendly  smile.  "  The  long  tramps  with  the 
sandwich-board  have  had  their  day,  and  now  the  time 
has  come  for  something  else.  He  broke  off  with  a 
gesture  that  dismissed  the  subject.  "  Did  you  perhaps 
come  in  to  buy  something,  unlikely  as  that  seems?  " 

Varian  smiled.  "  Everything  looks  so  very  nice, 
I  would  like  to  loot  the  whole  shop.  I  had  no  idea  there 
was  such  a  place  as  this  to  be  met  with  in  London.  In 
fact,  my  mother  saw  it  one  day,  and  was  so  taken  with 
it,  and  with  a  scheme  of  her  own  as  a  corollary,  that 
she  asked  me  to  look  it  up.  Do  I  understand  that  you 
run  it?" 

"  Not  exactly,  but  it  is  a  family  affair.  The  daugh- 
ter of  my  friend  Panta  is  the  presiding  genius.  You 
may  note  her  special  touch.  She  really  knows  more 
about  life  in  general,  and  the  best  ways  to  meet  those 
semi-catastrophes  with  which  the  most  uneventful  day 
is  beset,  than  her  father  and  I  rolled  together.  As 
she  is  the  motive-power  of  the  whole  affair,  had  you 
not  better  talk  to  her?  I  conceive  her  at  this  moment 
in  an  agony  of  curiosity  as  to  what,  in  heaven's  name, 
we  are  about.  When  you  came  in,  you  represented  to 
us  simply  the  prospective  purchaser  of  an  egg  or  two, 
or  a  drop  of  milk.  But  you  see  how  the  situation  has 
developed — one  moment !  "  and  Quin  disappeared. 

"  How  delightfully  strange ! "  cried  Bina,  her  eyes 
alight  at  Quin's  hurried  explanation.  "  It  looks  as 
if  the  cloud-current  really  meant  us  to  be  something  in 
his  life.  We  must  ask  him  in.  Perhaps  he  hasn't  had 
his  tea  yet." 

"Will  you  come  in  here?"  said  a  soft  voice,  and 


116  THE  IMMORTAL  GYMNASTS 

Varian  wheeled  to  face  Bina's  airy  shape,  to  receive  a 
vivid  and  instantaneous  impression  of  a  flexible,  light 
young  figure,  of  coils  and  spirals  and  vinelike  tendrils 
of  ruddy  chestnut  hair,  of  large,  clear,  dark  eyes  that 
seemed  to  radiate  an  innocent,  warm,  friendly  hospi- 
tality. 

Varian  smiled,  and  followed  her  with  alacrity  into  the 
pleasant  precincts  of  the  sitting-room,  with  its  ancient, 
wide-armed  chairs,  its  broad,  deep  hearth,  its  cupboards, 
and  its  curtains  on  which  strange  birds  stalked.  That 
must  have  been  what  had  caught  Anie's  eye.  Varian 
felt  a  shade  of  awkwardness  for  a  moment  as  these 
charming-looking  but  extraordinary  people  regarded 
him  with  the  marked,  almost  inquiring  interest  of  old 
friends  who  knew  him  well,  and  who  were  mutually 
asking,  after  some  interval  of  absence,  how  he  did. 
It  was  distinctly  curious,  but  the  effect  wore  off  almost 
at  once,  as  Quin  took  his  hat  and  stick,  and  Bina 
recommended  the  deep  recess  of  a  wicker  chair,  be- 
cause you  slid  so  awfully  on  the  leather  cushions  of  the 
other  one. 

Deftly,  without  haste,  the  little  table  became  spread 
for  tea,  the  delicate  cups  and  plates  appeared  from 
their  dim  cupboard  confinement,  the  spirit-lamp  did  its 
manifest  duty  without  snorting  or  spluttering,  and 
presently  the  quite  particular  aroma  of  Bina's  tea 
floated  out  caressingly  as  she  poised  the  pot. 

"  It  is  the  oddest  thing,"  said  Varian,  settling  him- 
self as  deep  as  he  would  go  in  his  capacious  chair, 
refusing,  with  pain,  his  fourth  cup  of  tea,  "but  you 
two  people  remind  me  in  the  most  tantalizing  way  of 
some  group,  some  picture  that  eludes  me.     I  seem  to 


THE  IMMORTAL  GYMNASTS  117 

see  you  dancing,  or  just  resting  from  a  dance.  It  is 
all  smoky,  and  vague,  and  dim.  There  are  lights,  but 
it  is  in  the  open  air,  in  a  garden,  or  on  a  stage  in  a 
garden.  By  Jove,"  turning  to  Quin,  "  you  have  on 
the  most  extraordinary  costume." 

"  I  seem  to  run  to  that  sort  of  thing.  Do  you  recol- 
lect my  rakish  fez?  " 

"  Rather,  but  you  are  very  swagger  here  in  darkish 
tights,  chequered  with  red  and  black  diamond  shapes, 
or  is  it  red  and  yellow?  You  have  on  a  bit  of  a 
masque,  and  a  line  of  white  shows  at  your  ankle,  just 
above  your  flat,  shiny  pumps." 

"  It  might  be  Harlequin,"  said  Quin,  with  a  whimsical 
lift  of  his  eyebrow. 

"  Exactly.  But  what  the  deuce  has  Harlequin  to  do 
with  it  ?  "  Varian  wondered  aloud. 

"  To  do  with  what  ?  "  asked  Quin  softly,  fixing  his 
guest  with  quiet,  deep,  impelling  eyes.  The  story  was 
coming  out. 

"  Will  you  think  me  quite  mad  if  I  tell  you " 

"  Oh,  no,  we  never  do,"  declared  Bina,  highly  inter- 
ested, with  the  air  of  one  to  whom  bloody  and  mysteri- 
ous secrets  were  confided  daily. 

"  A  week  or  so  ago,"  began  Varian,  "  I  was  in  great 
trouble  and  difficulty  about  a  friend's  affairs.  It  was 
a  delicate  matter,  and  I  was  on  the  point  of  throwing 
up  the  whole  thing,  when  suddenly,  right  there  before 
me,  in  the  morning,  in  a  room  with  the  sun  streaming 
in,  I  had  a  distinct  vision  of  something  that  didn't 
exist." 

"Something — creepy?"  asked  Bina  yearningly. 

"  Not  a  bit  in  itself.     But  how  the  deuce  do  such 


118  THE  IMMORTAL  GYMNASTS 

things  happen?  I  saw — someone,  the  friend  whose 
affairs  were  troubling  me,  as  she  was  years  ago,  as  a 
child.  But  the  strangest  part  is  yet  to  come,  the 
strangest  in  view  of  the  fact  that  by  the  merest  acci- 
dent I  should  be  sitting  here  with  you  talking  and 
taking  tea.  For,  in  this  vision  of  my  friend,  you  two 
people  certainly  appeared  also,  you,"  looking  at  Quin, 
"  exactly,  definitely,  as  you  are  at  this  moment,  but 
in  that  eccentric  costume  I  described.  Miss  Panta 
was  vaguer,  mistier,  in  white,  with  a  bluish  wrap  or 
mantle." 

"  I'm  glad  I  was  in  it,"  hazarded  Bina. 

"  So  am  I,"  declared  Varian.  He  certainly  had  a 
delightfully  boyish  air.  "  The  fact  remains  that  some 
subconscious  chord  in  me  was  jerked  by  you  two  good 
people,  idly,  involuntarily  on  your  part,  but  just  at  the 
right  moment.  We  had  to  meet,  you  see.  I  felt  the 
tug  as  I  turned  into  Countess  Street  this  afternoon. 
You  lead  me  into  this  cosy  room  and  feed  me  with  the 
most  delicious  things,  with  never  a  question  as  to  what 
the  dickens  I'm  here  for  anyway ! " 

"  Ah,  two  minutes  of  talk,  the  glance  of  an  eye,  or 
the  brush  of  an  elbow  has  been  enough  to  put  us  en 
rapport,  to  make  us  aware  of  a  certain  affinity,  much 
deeper  than  anything  physical,  that  tells  us  we  speak 
the  same  secret  tongue,  are  made  free  of  the  same 
sacred  mysteries." 

Quin  bent  his  kindly  eye  upon  their  young  guest, 
who  was  confusedly  conscious  that  this  was  unusual 
talk  for  a  room-back-of-the-shop.  He  was  immensely 
interested,  however,  and  did  not  care  if  he  showed  it. 

"  That  day  in  Oxford  Street,"  continued  Quin,  "  the 


THE  IMMORTAL  GYMNASTS  119 

day  of  the  Adventure  of  the  Match,  you  told  me,  un- 
consciously, that  we  should  have  things  to  say  to  each 
other,  should  we  ever  meet,  messages  to  send  and  to 
receive.  You  reinforce  this  perhaps  rather  nebulous 
conviction  by  the  account  of  the  part  Bina  and  I 
played  in  your  vision.  It  shows  that  we,  drawn  by 
who  shall  say  what  currents  of  sympathy,  lying  far 
beyond  the  probe  of  any  psychical  examiner,  lent  you 
aid  and  comfort  at  a  moment  of  indecision.  You  are 
by  way  of  being  a  sensitive  yourself,  or  you  would  never 
have  seen  our  '  reflection.'  We,  for  our  part,  were  quite 
unconscious  at  the  time  that  we  were  appearing  in— 
where  was  the  room  in  question,  may  I  ask?  " 

u  In  Wilton  Place." 

"  So  that  morning  you  were  enabled  to  see  us  in 
Wilton  Place,  when,  as  a  mere  matter  of  physical  pres- 
ence, Bina  was  tending  shop,  and  I  trundling  my 
sandwich-board.  Some  master  hand  jerked  our  strings 
that  day  beyond  a  doubt." 

"  We  must  simply  wait  and  see  what  will  come  of 
it,"  concluded  Bina,  practical  ever,  with  the  wisest  little 
housewifely  smile. 

"  So  far,  at  least,  a  most  agreeable  hour  of  talk  for 
me,"  said  Varian,  looking  from  one  to  the  other.  "  I 
hope  it  won't  be  the  last.  You  know  I  live  rather  near 
you,  in  Cambridge  Street.  We  might  meet  sometimes, 
if  you  cared  to  look  me  up.  One  doesn't  so  often  run 
across  such  manifest  '  sympathetics  '  as  we  are.  I  ought 
to  have  a  card  on  me  somewhere.  Yes,  here  is  an  ex- 
ceedingly messy  one."  He  rose.  "  Good  heavens,  I 
was  on  the  point  of  wandering  off  without  telling  you 
why  I  am  here."    They  all  laughed. 


120  THE  IMMORTAL  GYMNASTS 

"  Do  sit  down  again,"  begged  Bina.  "  I  am  dying 
to  know,  but  am  too  polite  to  ask." 

"  It  is  childishly  simple.  My  mother  has  a  place  at 
Wimbledon.  It  contains  everything  that  can  minister 
to  the  comfort  of  man,  including  three  excellent  cows. 
Now  there  seems  to  be  a  limit  to  the  amount  of  milk 
one's  household  can  consume,  and  upon  seeing  this 
charming  shop  of  yours  a  week  or  so  ago — she 
was  too  late  and  too  occupied  to  stop  and  explain  her 
scheme  to  you  then — she  was  seized  with  the  idea  of 
sending  in  the  surplus  from  her  dairy,  begging  you  to 
dole  it  out  to  the  poor  babies  and  pussy-cats  of  the 
neighbourhood.  What  do  you  say  to  the  suggestion? 
Is  it  too  grotesquely  impracticable?  Would  it  bore  or 
trouble  you?  "  Varian  fixed  Bina  with  his  most  en- 
gagingly anxious  look.     She  played  up  at  once. 

"  Indeed,  it  would  give  me  great  pleasure  to  help 
your  mother,  especially  as  she  will  find  the  ground  well 
broken.  I  have  already  a  number  of  unofficial  little 
pensionnaires  in  the  neighbourhood — four-footed  ones, 
too,  and  with  this  Wimbledon  milk  I  can  regularly 
serve  a  shelter  for  poor  women  and  their  babies,  not  far 
from  here,  in  Horsham  Ground.  It  is  run  as  a  semi- 
private  offshoot  from  the  big  Neighbourhood  House  in 
Ridges  Street  by  such  a  sweet  woman,  a  Miss  John- 
stone-Ford— thin  as  a  reed,  and  so  pale  and  jerky  you 
want  to  feed  her  up  with  eggs  and  cream.  She  needs 
it  more  than  the  big,  coarse,  slatternly  wrecks  who 
hang  to  her  skimpy  little  skirts." 

You  instantly  had  a  vision  of  pretty  Bina,  as  a  stern 
but  just  Bona  Dea,  dispensing  the  bland  fruits  of  the 
home  farm,  but  putting  up  with  no  nonsense,  you  may 


THE  IMMORTAL  GYMNASTS  121 

be  sure,  from  frail  Miss  Johnstone-Ford's  riotous  flock. 

"  How  very  jolly,"  breathed  Varian  with  relief.  "  So 
we  may  consider  that  as  settled.  You  are  quite  sure 
it  won't  bother  you  in  the  least?  "  Bina  shook  her 
head. 

"  Mother  will  be  so  pleased,"  went  on  Varian,  "  she 
will  want  to  meet  you.  May  she,  some  time,  when  she 
is  next  in  town?  I  could  bring  her.  We  are  already 
friends  enough  for  that,  not  to  wait  on  ceremony?  " 

They  went  well  together,  these  two,  Bina  and  Varian, 
standing  quite  near  each  other,  their  eyes  full  of  the 
rather  vivid  interest  and  pleasure  their  unconventional 
meeting  had  aroused.  Yes,  they  certainly  "  composed," 
thought  Quin  rather  grimly,  suddenly  feeling  flat  and 
tired.  Heavens,  what  an  old  fool  he  was,  becoming 
more  and  more  Cubical  every  day,  with  his  uneasy — 
no,  he  couldn't  call  it  jealousy — with  his  uneasy  anxiety 
as  to  Bina  and  every  person  not  actually  doddering 
with  whom  she  exchanged  a  word. 

"  Good-bye  and  thank  you  most  awfully,"  Varian 
held  out  a  frank  hand,  that,  as  Quin  grasped  it,  sent 
to  his  brain  quick,  cloudy  tremors  from  the  boy's  most 
intimate  life.  But,  being  on  this  new,  friendly  footing 
with  the  lad,  he  refused  to  register  them,  and  they 
sank  away  again  into  those  dim,  lost  undercurrents  of 
the  soul. 

"  Oh,  by  the  way,  shall  we  send  the  milk  here,  or 
would  it  be  simpler  to  forward  it  directly  to  the  shel- 
ter? "  asked  Varian  as  a  parting  shot. 

"  No,  here,  please.  That  will  be  easier.  Good-bye." 
Bina  followed  him  with  bright,  friendly  eyes  as  he  made 
his  way  out  of  the  shop. 


123  THE  IMMORTAL  GYMNASTS 

"  Oh,  I  do  like  your  Varian,"  she  exclaimed,  coming 
back  to  stand  in  front  of  Quin,  as  he  leaned  on  the 
mantelpiece.  "  He  is  so  simple,  and  yet  his  eyes  show 
that  he  could  be  as  complex  as  need  be,  as  careful  and 
subtle  as  he  was  in  the  Ambry  affair.  It  is  good  to 
meet  people  like  that  sometimes,  isn't  it,  Quin?  " 

The  latter  gave  but  a  languid  assent,  then  roused 
himself. 

"  I  like  the  boy  immensely.  Shall  we  see  anything 
more   of  him,  I  wonder?  " 

"  Oh,  yes,  he  will  bring  his  mother,  I  feel  sure.  But, 
Quin,  how  about  your  cloud-current?  Now  that  we 
really  know  him,  on  this  footing,  isn't  it  very  awkward 
for  you  to  read  his  thoughts  ?  " 

"  It  would  be  damnable,  my  dear  child,  quite  dam- 
nable to  do  so.  Luckily — or  is  it  unluckily?  I  don't 
know — I  have  become  so  deucedly  Cubical  in  the  last 
few  years,  more  and  more  so  since  we  left  Italy  and 
settled  down  here  in  England — in  fact,  I  think  we  all 
have — that  I  can  now,  at  will,  disregard  the  messages 
that  importune  me  from  this  or  that  chance  meeting. 
By  so  doing,  by  keeping  the  door  fast  in  their  faces, 
I  save  myself  from  peeking  and  prying.  When  I  shook 
the  boy's  hand  a  moment  ago  I  was,  for  an  instant, 
submerged  in  his  personality — I  could  have  read  him 
more  deeply,  more  clearly  than  he  will  ever  know  him- 
self. But  I  shut  off  the  current,  and  it  ebbed  and  sank 
down  into  the  vast  dynamo  whence  it  sprang.  Years 
ago  I  did  not  have  this  negative  power.  I  gloried  in 
my  cloud-heritage,  in  the  gifts  and  marks  of  our  pe- 
culiar race.  I  bathed  triumphantly  in  the  full  flood  of 
the  amazing  force  that  swept  through  me,  taking  me  off 


THE  IMMORTAL  GYMNASTS  123 

my  feet,  in  my  contact  with  these  Cubical  men  and 
women.  I  could  no  more  then  have  regulated  their 
messages,  as  I  do  now — could  no  more  have  avoided  the 
startling  revelations  of  their  inmost  being,  vivid  as 
lightning,  photographic  in  their  sharpness — than  I 
could  have  prevented  myself  from  receiving  them  in  the 
first  place.  But  we  change,  we  grow  old,  we  grow 
Cubical." 

Quin  looked  at  himself  in  the  shabby  mirror,  then 
back  again  gratefully  to  the  fairer,  clearer  one  of 
Bina's  eyes.  That  young  person  appeared  momentarily 
dashed.  Quin  had  not  been  himself  lately — not  the 
brave,  gay,  intrepid  mixture  of  comrade,  playfellow, 
and  guardian  to  which  the  years  had  accustomed  her. 

"  Are  you  so  tired  to-day,  Quin  ?  "  she  asked  in  a 
small  voice,  seeking,  womanlike,  a  physical  explanation 
(it  is  always  so  much  safer)  for  the  impression  he  gave 
her  of  indefinite  malaise.  "You  have  been  working 
too  hard  at  that  old  gymnasium." 

"  Not  a  bit  of  it,"  cried  Quin,  mentally  shaking  him- 
self savagely.  Why  must  he  worry  that  happy  nature 
with  his  whims  ?  "  It  is  rather  good  sport  sometimes 
making  old  Heffendorfer's  eyes  pop.  One  isn't  Harle- 
quin for  nothing,  eh  ?  "  Quin  fell  into  one  of  his  old, 
easy,  graceful,  inimitable  postures,  and  stood  poised 
for  a  moment  with  winged  ankles,  as  though  waiting 
for  the  first  gay  throb  of  the  carnival  music.  Bina 
clapped  her  hands.  The  shadow  had  passed  off  for  this 
time. 

"  Oh,  do  dance ! "  she  begged. 

"  Ah,  not  now.  I  really  am  a  bit  stiff — and  after 
such  a  tea!     Do  you  want  to  kill  me?     By  the  way, 


124  THE  IMMORTAL  GYMNASTS 

where  is  Panta?  He  roameth  far.  To  be  sure  we  had 
tea  earlier  to-day,  didn't  we?  " 

"Yes,  because  of  Varian.  Wouldn't  it  be  jolly  if 
his  mother  were  to  bring  in  the  little  Anie?  If  I  could 
see  her,  I  think  their  story  would  be  clearer." 

Quin,  with  a  restless  desire  to  get  away  from  the 
whole  subject,  suddenly  bethought  himself  of  "  The 
Immortal  Gymnast "  languishing  in  Panta's  chair.  He 
fumbled  for  the  book  and  drew  it  out  of  its  recess. 

"Has  Panta  finished  this  yet?" 

"  Oh,  no,  he  keeps  going  back  to  the  beginning,  and 
starting  all  over  again.  He  says  you  must  do  that  with 
anything  deep,  so  as  to  get  your  sea-legs." 

Quin  made  a  wry  face  as  he  settled  himself  to  the 
task,  opening  the  book  in  the  middle  and  boldly  com- 
mencing to  read  with  the  hardihood  of  inexperience. 

Bina  laid  the  table  afresh  for  poor,  tired  Panta, 
when  he  should  drift  in,  and  then  sat  down  in  her  little 
chair  with  a  formidable  list  of  bills  and  accounts, 
checking  them  up  briskly,  with  a  deft  exactitude. 

A  quiet  half-hour  ebbed  away  before  Quin  began  to 
show  signs  of  returning  animation.  Then  he  looked  up, 
beat  his  book  upon  his  knee,  and  fixed  Bina  with  a 
humorous  eye. 

"  This  old  fellow  has  certainly  struck  out  a  vein 
of  his  own,"  he  said.  "  Let  me  read  you  this."  Bina 
stood  it  as  long  as  she  could,  then  she  burst  out : 

"  Oh,  stop  a  moment,  Quin,  till  I  catch  my  breath. 
I  am  not  sure  that  I  understand  all  you  have  been  say- 
ing, but  this  much  I  know — it  is  a  doctrine  of  despair, 
wiping  all  meaning  out  of  life — calling  it  horrid  names 
into  the  bargain — (  jarred,'  '  secondary,'  '  out  of  tune.' 


THE  IMMORTAL  GYMNASTS  125 

Why,  it  is  pure  Nihilism.  If  we  believed  that  old  man, 
where  should  we  ever  gather  the  strength  to  face  each 
new  day?  If  we  considered  that  this  miserable  little 
'  I '  of  ours  was  the  only  thing  that  mattered,  we  should 
become  the  most  pagan,  savage  brutes.  Where  would 
unselfishness  and  pity  and  loving-kindness  come  in? 
Why,  the  whole  meaning  would  go  out  of  life  like  a 
shot.  I  don't  like  that  book  at  all."  Bina  slapped 
her  accounts  down  on  the  table,  and  turned  an  ani- 
mated, combative  face  in  Quin's  direction. 

"  Your  remarks  do  credit  to  your  heart,  my  child," 
replied  Quin  with  mock  gravity,  "  but  you  have  com- 
mitted the  unpardonable  sin — natural,  however,  as  all 
sin  is  considered  to  be  by  the  judicious — the  unpardon- 
able sin,  I  say,  of  dragging  ethics  into  a  philosophic 
discussion.  It  is  tempting,  I  confess,  but,  believe  me, 
it  won't  do.  Now,  as  to  the  theory's  nihilistic  tenden- 
cies, on  which  you  put  your  small  finger  at  once,  the 
author  admits  them  himself  with  disarming  frankness. 
He  practically  says  that  his  work  is  for  the  perusal 
and  acceptance  of  the  '  Priests  of  Egypt '  only — the 
hopeless  sceptics — the  poor,  tired,  world-weary,  bat- 
tered and  worn  men  of  parts.  He  can  have  no  message 
for  the  young,  the  healthy,  the  happy.  He  even  nar- 
rows it  down  to  a  matter  of  circulation,  when  he  says 
that  the  mystic,  the  idealist,  is  not  a  full-blooded  per- 
son. There  you  have  it  in  a  nutshell.  You  could  ex- 
plode his  precious  theory  in  the  market-place,  and,  I 
wager  you,  there  would  be  the  most  discouraging  trickle 
of  smoke  and  no  bang  to  speak  of.  The  man  in  the 
street  now  finds  a  pragmatic  sanction  for  everything 
he  does,  or  wishes  to  do,  and  that  is  enough  for  him." 


126  THE  IMMORTAL  GYMNASTS 

"  I  still  contend  that  your  old  philosopher  would  be 
a  dangerous  person  to  have  around,"  protested  Bina. 
"  His  scheme  takes  all  the  light,  and  colour,  and — 
smell  out  of  life.  It  makes  it  seem  dull  and  papery, 
like  scenery.  I  feel  that  depression  sometimes  in  read- 
ing novels.  All  the  exciting  experiences  of  the  people 
in  the  book  can  have  only  a  kind  of  secondary  meaning 
for  me — all  these  amusing,  interesting,  or  painful 
things  are  so  simply  in  relation  to  the  characters,  not  as 
happening  to  me  at  first-hand,  as  a  living  person.  Now 
your  old  man  would  reduce  my  real,  own,  true,  every- 
day life  to  just  this  dim,  weak,  twilight  existence  of 
half-tones  and  shadowy  reactions.  I  refuse  to  have 
anything  to  do  with  it." 

"  Ah,  my  dear,  thank  God  you  need  not."  Quin 
closed  the  book  carefully  and  tucked  it  away  again. 
"  He  is  not  for  the  young  or  the  beautiful,  the  happy, 
the  gay,  the  free.  Not  for  the  Binas  of  this  life  does 
he  weave  his  spidery  chain ! 


CHAPTER  NINE 

A  S  they  spoke,  the  lovely  evening  light  began  to 
Z\  steal  moist,  powdery,  gold  fingers  between  the 
•*•  ^  half-drawn  curtains,  dripping  over  dim,  shad- 
owy spots  in  the  old  flooring,  heightening  the  darkish 
polish  of  the  worn  mahogany,  lingering  with  a  vanishing 
brightness  on  the  warm,  ruffled  top  of  Bina's  head, 
beckoning  to  all  sensitive  souls,  house-bound  at  this 
magic  moment,  to  come  out  helter-skelter,  hand  in 
hand,  hatless,  breathless,  slippered  feet  in  the  long,  wet 
grass — only  to  come  out,  to  hunt  and  find,  across  the 
yellow  fields,  beyond  the  farthest  bronze-green  glimmer 
of  the  waving  forest-ride  that  pot  of  gold  the  sun  is 
always  too  drowsy  and  heavy  to  carry  with  him  as  he 
sinks  into  his  yawning  West. 

Quin  sprang  up  suddenly.  "  Oh,  I  say,  you  know, 
Bina,  this  evening  is  too  heavenly.  What  a  stretch 
for  our  legs,  what  sights  to  see,  what  streets  to  im- 
portune! Isn't  this  Mrs.  Ruggles'  day  to  clean  up? 
Couldn't  she  tend  shop  at  this  morte  saison  while  you 
and  I  take  a  frisk  ?  " 

This  was  so  much  like  the  old,  irresponsible  Quin 
that  Bina  wavered.  "  Do  you  think  it  would  be  quite 
safe?  Rug-Pug  is  such  a  fool.  Could  she  do  it,  do 
you  think?  Panta  must  surely  be  in  from  moment  to 
moment  now.  I  should  love  to  go.  It  seems  ages  since 
we  have  had  a  walk  together." 

127 


128  THE  IMMORTAL  GYMNASTS 

"  Up  and  away  then,  be  our  word.  Shall  I  fetch 
your  hat?  " 

"  No,  I  must  run  up  and  drag  down  Rug-Pug.  I 
shan't  be  a  moment." 

A  trifle  breathless  they  set  out,  just  in  the  mood  for 
adventure.  Happily  they  met  Panta  at  the  end  of  the 
street — a  weary,  rumpled  Panta,  who  made  the  liveliest 
pantomime,  as  of  one  overcome  with  surprise,  when  he 
saw  them.  He  had  been  belated,  it  appeared,  at  his  old 
trick  of  fingering  books  in  Tottenham  Court  Road, 
where,  waking  up,  he  found  himself  to  his  dismay 
devoid  of  anything  in  the  nature  of  coin  of  the  realm 
("Oh,  naughty,  careless  old  man!"  interjected  Bina), 
so  he  had  been  forced  to  foot  it,  bookless  and  tealess, 
half  across  London. 

They  were  so  gay  and  slightly  foolish  at  the  prospect 
of  their  little  expedition  that,  extremes  readily  meeting, 
they  would  have  mingled  their  tears  with  his,  had  he 
given  them  the  opening.  As  it  was,  he  merely  showed 
a  touching  solicitude  as  to  what  had  been  left  out  for 
his  tea,  brightening  considerably  at  the  mention  of 
anchovy  paste.  He  promised  faithfully  to  back  up 
Rug-Pug  should  she  become  embroiled  with  a  possible 
customer,  and  waved  them  a  jaunty  farewell. 

"  I  had  an  easy  round  with  your  gymnastic  friend 
this  afternoon,"  called  back  Quin  over  his  shoulder. 
"  We  were  sparring  for  position." 

"  He's  a  dark  one,"  muttered  Panta,  wagging  his 
head.     "Take  care!" 

But  the  spell  of  the  streets  took  them  instead — this 
spell  made  up  of  movement,  of  scent,  of  colour,  of 
darkness  shot  with  light,  of  subtle  emanations,  of  ob- 


THE  IMMORTAL  GYMNASTS  129 

vious  contacts,  of  fleeting  snatches,  of  half-heard  words  ; 
a  matter  of  interruptions,  of  broken  connexions,  of 
eyes  that  invite,  of  gestures  that  rebuff,  of  things  un- 
finished, of  things  never  begun — that  haunting,  fatigu- 
ing, piquant  mixture  that  envelops  you  as  densely  as  a 
November  fog,  stinging  your  eyes,  so  that  they  open 
only  the  wider,  the  more  eagerly;  flicking  you  smartly 
on  the  cheek,  so  that  the  other  may  be  the  more  readily 
turned;  stealing  with  its  curious,  penetrating  odour 
into  your  nostrils,  so  that  hereafter  no  Arabian  per- 
fume can  be  sweet;  sinking  into  and  burning  on  your 
palate,  so  that  no  food  less  exciting  can  ever  be  savoury 
again.  All  this  it  does,  and  more,  and  Quin  and  Bina 
found  themselves  to-night  in  a  mood  to  relish  its  magic. 

They  struck  out  in  the  direction  of  the  park,  walking 
slowly  along  the  palings  in  Belgrave  Square,  so  that 
Quin  could  point  out  the  famous  cream-coloured  man- 
sion that  once  housed  unhappy  little  Anie  until  her 
young  kinsman  spirited  her  away  to  Wimbledon,  where 
live  and  thrive  those  wonderful  cows.  There  were  lights 
behind  the  rows  of  dimly-shrouded  windows,  pinkish- 
reddish,  as  from  shaded,  glowing  lamps. 

"  This  is  the  time  one  would  be  dressing  for  late 
dinner,  eh  ?  "  remarked  Bina.  "  How  long  their  days 
and  nights  must  be ! " 

"  Long,  dull,  and  empty  in  reality,  but  very  short, 
crammed,  and  exciting  to  the  consciousness  of  these 
young  men  and  young  women,  these  Anies  and  Ambrys, 
who  dash  in  vague  circles  every  day,  with  as  much  in- 
tense, if  undirected  energy,  as  any  small  steam-machine, 
rushing  off  on  its  tiny  track,  without  the  guiding  hand 
of  its  maker  and  engineer." 


130  THE  IMMORTAL  GYMNASTS 

"  Our  friend  Varian  is  not  like  that,  is  he?  "  queried 
innocent  Bina.  "  He  works  at  something,  doesn't 
he?" 

Poor  Quin  had  a  sensation  of  goose-flesh  at  what  he 
chose  to  consider  her  obvious  interest. 

"  Oh,  yes,  he  writes  little  art  notices  for  the  little 
magazines."  He  softened,  when  he  saw  that  she  did 
not  resent  his  disparaging  adjective.  "  Our  Varian  is 
refreshingly  in  earnest,"  he  went  on.  "  He  will  do 
something  yet.  Did  it  strike  you  that  he  meant  it 
seriously  when  he  asked  me  to  look  him  up,  or  was  it 
a  mere  fapon  de  parler,  born  of  gentle  habits  and  the 
worthy  desire  to  be  agreeable?  " 

"  Oh,  I  am  quite  sure  he  meant  every  word  of  it," 
cried  Bina.  "  I  could  shake  you  sometimes,  Quin. 
Don't  you  know  that  the  moment  a  person  looks  at 
you  he  wants  to  know  you  ?  Can't  you  see  how  awfully, 
how  most  unusually  attractive  you  are?  " 

A  glow  shot  through  poor  Quin,  raying  out  so  richly, 
so  ruddily,  and  so  warmly  that  no  goose-flesh  could 
stand  against  it. 

"  My  dear  child,  you  rave,"  he  said,  but  he  was  im- 
mensely pleased  nevertheless. 

"  Then  I'll  go  sometime  to  Cambridge  Street,"  he 
continued  with  decision.  "  We  can  talk  about  Italy. 
What  do  you  say  to  turning  through  Wilton  Place? 
It  will  bring  us  out  at  Knightsbridge." 

Bina  obediently  followed  her  leader,  a  dainty  figure, 
with  the  airy,  perfectly-balanced  walk  of  the  born 
dancer,  a  little  black  lace  toque  pinned  on  the  shining 
coils  of  her  hair  that  curled  into  a  great  roll  on  her  neck, 
a  cloudy  scarf  drooping  from  her  shoulders,  hanging 


THE  IMMORTAL  GYMNASTS  131 

across  her  slender  arms,  over  which  she  had  pulled  up 
the  long,  wrinkled  tops  of  her  gloves. 

"  Why  should  Wilton  Place  have  so  familiar  a 
sound  ?  "  she  openly  wondered. 

"  Because  Ambry  lives  there.  It  was  in  his  rooms 
that  Varian  had  his  vision  of  us." 

"  To  be  sure.  It  is  a  pity  my  scarf  isn't  blue.  Who 
is  he,  exactly  ?  " 

"  Sir  Ambry  Nunholme,  son  of  a  deceased  worthy 
baronet  and  of  his  widow  who  has  married  again.  I'll 
tell  you  something  that  has  just  come  to  me.  When  I 
permitted  myself  to  remain  en  rapport  with  Varian,  I 
caught  a  number  of  flying  cues,  got  hints  of  people  who 
had  influenced  him,  who  had  left  their  impress  on  him. 
Has  your  Miss  Johnstone-Ford  of  the  Shelter  for  Dis- 
tressed Females  and  their  Offspring  by  any  chance  a 
brother?" 

"  Of  course  she  has.  How  odd  of  you  to  ask !  He 
used  to  be  something  or  other  at  Oxford,  but  he  has 
gone  into  Socialism,  and  is  the  Secretary  for  some 
League,  or  Guild,  or " 

"  Well,  he  was  Varian's  tutor,  Ambry's  as  well.  See 
how  the  filaments  of  this  affair  catch  our  hands  at  every 
turn!  We  are  in  the  same  web  too,  busy,  no  doubt, 
in  shooting  out  our  gossamer  strands,  as  invisible  to  us 
as  to  them." 

At  this  moment  the  door  of  a  house  a  few  feet  away 
was  pulled  open,  letting  out  a  gush  of  orange  light 
upon  the  walk,  and  a  harassed  domestic  appeared  to 
blow  a  shrill  blast  upon  a  whistle.  Before  an  answer- 
ing rattle,  bang,  or  gurgle  could  announce  the  arrival 
of  the  desired  conveyance,  a  tall,  fair  youth  in  the 


132  THE  IMMORTAL  GYMNASTS 

pied  garb  of  evening,  with  floating  cape  and  opera-hat, 
showed  himself  at  the  door  with  every  mark  of  haste, 
waved  the  man  out  of  the  way  with  a  high  gesture  of 
impatience,  and  started  down  the  street  at  a  pace 
sufficiently  rapid  and  impetuous. 

Coming  abreast  of  our  friends  under  the  gas-lamp, 
the  youth's  attention  was  noticeably  engaged,  even  to 
the  slackening  of  his  gait,  by  Bina's  face  under  her 
filmy  hat.  Boldly  his  eyes  spoke,  unmistakably  his 
blond,  expressive  masque  showed  the  ready  desire  for 
adventure.  "  If  he  hadn't  been  in  such  a  confounded 
hurry  and  if  the  little  thing  hadn't  had  that  lanky 

dark  chap  with  her "  A  taxi  rattling  by,  he  dashed 

into  it  and  was  wafted  away. 

Quin  looked  after  him  sardonically,  with  ever  so 
slight  a  stiffening  of  those  steel-like  muscles. 

"  What  a  horrid  boy ! "  exclaimed  Bina,  without 
analysing  her  repulsion. 

"  Voila,  Ambry,  my  dear,"  replied  Quin 

"  No?  "    Bina  made  the  round  O  of  astonishment. 

"  Yes." 

"  He  is  not  nice." 

"  Oh,  this  is  merely  by  the  way.  In  his  accustomed 
haunts  he  doubtless  acts  with  more  discretion.  We 
caught  him  off  his  guard.  He  has  undeniable  charm. 
Also,  to  carry  about  that  face  and  those  shoulders  is 
a  distinct  asset." 

"What  impression  did  you  get  as  he  passed  us? 
There  is  no  reason  why  you  should  disregard  his  cur- 
rent, is  there  ?  " 

"  Not  in  the  least,  so  far.  I  shall  suck  him  dry.  I 
got  the  shock  of  an  impetuous,  turbulent  nature,  with 


THE  IMMORTAL  GYMNASTS  138 

a  curious  undertow,  one  must  confess,  of  a  certain 
bitter  sweetness,  a  certain  heady  attraction  with  a 
strong  physical  pull.  It  is  difficult  to  explain,  but  I 
know  enough  now  to  understand  what  a  poor,  helpless 
little  leaf  such  a  girl  as  Anie  would  be,  launched  on 
the  breast  of  such  a  spring-torrent.  Ah,  my  dear,  the 
mystery  of  all  these  personalities — selfish,  ardent,  hun- 
gering, devouring !  Shall  we  turn  ?  We  might  go  down 
Sloane  and  around  by  Cadogan." 

They  walked  slowly,  breathing  the  damp  evening  air, 
heavy,  near  the  gardens,  with  the  scent  of  the  limes, 
or  the  slightly  animal  odour  of  the  ailanthus.  They 
felt  vaguely,  comfortably  happy,  because  they  were 
not  thinking  very  hard  of  anything.  They  were  to- 
gether, alone,  outside  the  daily  atmosphere  of  the  shop, 
in  the  relative  silence  of  the  evening  streets,  and  that 
sufficed  their  languid  senses  for  the  moment. 

All  the  world  that  uncoils  a  narrow,  red  carpet  on 
its  doorsteps  and  allows  it  to  trickle  down  upon  the 
walk  whenever  it  has  bidden  guests  to  dine,  seemed  his- 
pitably  bent  this  night.  How  many  crimson  patches 
had  they  passed  in  just  the  length  of  this  street? 
Broughams  and  motors  with  their  great  winking  lamps 
made  the  queue  before  these  decorated  doors,  discharg- 
ing pretty  ladies  who  pull  their  peacock  cloaks  about 
their  white  shoulders,  agitating  the  strange,  long, 
straight  feathers  it  was  the  momentary  mode  to  stick 
horizontally  in  their  hair. 

Bina,  obviously  taken  with  the  sight,  lagged  behind. 
A  motor  urged  its  petrol-scented  way  along  the  winding 
lane  of  conveyances. 

"  Tell  him  to  stop  here,"  cried  a  woman's  imperious, 


134  THE  IMMORTAL  GYMNASTS 

impatient  voice.  "  We  can  save  time  by  walking  a  few 
steps.  I  must  absolutely  have  two  words  with  Lady 
Susan  before  we  are  sent  in." 

The  motor  stopped  with  a  jerk,  and  the  woman  who 
had  spoken  opened  the  door  precipitately  with  a  fine, 
white,  ungloved  hand,  hurriedly  dragging  her  awk- 
wardly scanty,  primrose  train — again  the  mode  of  the 
moment — across  the  pavement,  huddling  her  violet  and 
silver  cloak  over  her  large,  bare,  braceleted  arms,  carry- 
ing with  a  touch  of  natural  arrogance  her  well-shaped 
head  with  its  ironlike  waves  of  rigidly  undulated 
fairish  hair,  a  frame,  it  may  be  said,  that  did  nothing 
to  soften  that  high-nosed,  square- jawed  countenance. 
In  the  wake  of  this  meteoric  lady,  a  young  man  emerged 
from  the  car  with  a  kind  of  sulky  nonchalance,  as 
though  to  stamp  her  haste  with  the  proper  amount  of 
disapprobation. 

"  Ambry ! "  murmured  Bina  under  her  breath,  with 
a  finger's  pressure  on  Quin's  arm. 

The  next  to  descend  was  a  tall  girl,  brilliant,  warm- 
coloured,  glowing,  with  an  abnormally  long  heron's 
feather  audaciously  stuck  in  the  rich,  unruly  web  of 
her  hair,  the  thin,  pale  satin  of  her  narrow  gown  as 
revealing  as  Tanagra  gauze. 

"  Your  mother,  you  know —  "  Ambry  grumbled  in 
her  ear. 

"  What  is  that  to  you  ?  "  she  demanded.  "  It  gives 
us  a  moment  to  ourselves."  She  seized  his  arm  to 
steady  herself  on  her  high,  pointed  heels.  They  were 
almost  of  a  height,  these  two,  he  scarcely  topping  her 
by  an  inch.  She  continued  to  hold  him,  as  they  made 
their  leisurely  way  into  the  lighted,  palm-set  doorway, 


THE  IMMORTAL  GYMNASTS  135 

their  voices  dying  into  a  murmur  Bina  ceased  to  catch. 

When  they  got  clear  of  the  carpets,  the  lights,  and 
the  footmen,  and  had  set  their  course  for  home,  Quin 
remarked : 

"  That's  the  storm-cloud  on  the  horizon." 

"Where?  Is  it  going  to  rain?"  cried  Bina,  think- 
ing tenderly  of  her  little  lacy  hat. 

"  Lord,  no,  what  a  child !  I  was  back  with  our  din- 
ner acquaintances,  Ambry  and  the  dark  young  woman. 
She  is  the  cloud  that  will  overtake  and  submerge  that 
young  man — a  dripping  and  slightly  unwilling  captive, 
I  imagine.     She  is  Estelle,  you  know." 

"  Oh,  Quin,  how  can  I  know  ?  You  forget  that  I  am 
quite  in  the  dark.  You  mean  that  she  is  Anie's  sister? 
Then  the  hard,  heavily-ironed  lady  must  be  their 
mother,  and  Varian's — what  ?  " 

"  His   mother's   half-sister." 

"  How  complicated  !  " 

"  It  sounds  worse  than  it  is.  What  a  tale  we  shall 
have  to  pop  Panta's  eyes  with  to-night ! " 

"  Must  we  tell  him  ?  Let  us  keep  this  for  our  very 
own — this  Ambry-Estelle  part.  That  shall  be  a  little 
secret  linked  with  this  walk  of  ours.  We'll  give  him 
Varian  and  the  milk  of  the  three  cows — but  not  this. 
Eh?" 

That  teasing  Bina  took  his  arm,  and  looked  up  smil- 
ing into  her  friend's  dark  face.  What  secret  would 
he  not  have  shared  with  her,  having  in  his  ears  that 
intoxicating  reiteration  of*  those  unmistakable  pro- 
nouns, "  us,"  "  our,"  "  we,"  with  which  her  plea  had 
been  liberally  sown? 

So  it  was  agreed.     They  found  Panta  dozing  at  his 


136  THE  IMMORTAL  GYMNASTS 

little  table,  covered  with  the  fragments  of  an  Homeric 
tea.  It  seemed  that  Rug-Pug  had  done  well,  having 
sold  a  slice  of  cheese  and  two  eggs,  actually  making 
change  for  the  same. 

"  I  told  you  so ! "  proclaimed  a  triumphant  Quin. 

There  is  always  someone  in  a  family  you  can  count 
on  for  that  classic  phrase,  and  Bina — such  a  shining- 
eyed  Bina,  fresh  and  cool-cheeked  from  the  damp  sum- 
mer air — did  not  let  him  forget  that  fact. 


CHAPTER  TEN 

VARIAN,  for  the  third  time  that  morning,  took 
from  an  inner  pocket  his  mother's  letter  and 
spread  the  thick  sheets  upon  the  bundle  of 
proofs,  damp  from  the  press,  that  he  had  not  yet 
sorted. 

There  was  some  mention  of  Anie  on  every  page: 
Anie  was  a  dear ;  Anie  loved  the  garden  and  the  roses ; 
Anie  was  reading  Sir  Thomas  Browne;  Anie  played  a 
mild  game  of  cribbage  with  Bee,  who  was  her  spaniel 
and  her  slave,  she,  his  mother,  receiving  no  more  atten- 
tions from  that  quarter ;  Anie  was  looking  forward  with 
the  prettiest  show  of  impatience  to  his  coming  on  Satur- 
day; Anie — so  the  pleasant  summer-song  went  on, 
painting  dream-pictures  for  his  half-closed  eyes,  pic- 
tures in  which  the  same  little  figure,  splashed  with  sun- 
light in  her  garden  hours,  or  moon-dappled  in  the  quiet 
light  of  evening,  held  his  eye  in  the  very  centre  of 
each  shifting,  cloudy  square.  He  pulled  himself  up. 
Did  the  good  mother  suspect?  Was  she  giving  her  boy 
the  sugar-plums  she  knew  he  craved  ?  Never  a  line  from 
Anie  herself.  Good  Lord,  how  could  he  expect  her  to 
write!  She  had  been  quite  mad  about  Ambry,  that 
care-free  scapegrace,  and  a  sensitive  girl  couldn't  pull 
her  slender  little  tortured  limbs  out  of  such  a  trap  and 
forget  the  pain  and  the  shame  in  a  matter  of  a  week 
or  so.  But,  as  the  days  went  on,  so,  alas,  went  alarm- 
ingly, degree  by  degree,  his  interest  in  Martini  fi.    He 

137 


138  THE  IMMORTAL  GYMNASTS 

really  must  pull  himself  together;  he  was  acting  like  a 
fool.  He  hadn't  a  leg  to  stand  on.  It  must  be  the 
weather.  So  the  bundle  of  proofs  was  torn  open  im- 
patiently, and  for  two  hours  or  so  the  blue  pencil 
dipped  and  wavered,  crossed,  recrossed,  checked,  starred, 
and  dotted,  desperately  bent  upon  proving  that  he  was 
a  devil  of  a  fellow  and  that  no  weaknesses  ever  escaped 
him.  Varian,  the  last  page  reached,  threw  down  his 
faithful,  blue  lieutenant,  stretched  his  arms  over  his 
head,  and  began  to  think  agreeably  of  what  he  would 
have  for  luncheon.  Into  this  placid  backwater  of  the 
soul,  with  a  resounding  clap  upon  the  door,  burst  little 
Susie,  bearing  a  telegram  that  she  held  in  her  apron 
between  two  soapy  fingers. 

"  Just  come  for  you,  sir,"  she  announced  briskly, 
the  desire  that  it  might  prove  to  be  something  exciting 
visibly  heaving  near  the  surface. 

Varian  took  it  languidly,  with  a  smile  and  a  word  of 
thanks  for  the  small  handmaiden,  who  sidled  slowly  out 
of  the  door  only  because  she  could  think  of  no  valid 
excuse  for  remaining. 

Varian  tore  the  filmy  paper  open,  and  felt  cold  up 
his  back.  It  was  from  his  mother,  asking  him  to  come 
down  at  once,  as  she  was  worried  about  Anie.  Good 
heavens!  what  could  she  mean?  Her  letter,  so  full  of 
cheerful  news,  had  been  posted  late  yesterday  after- 
noon. Whatever  had  happened,  then,  was  an  affair 
of  last  night  or  early  this  morning.  It  must  be  Ambry 
again.  But  what  could  Ambry  do?  He  would  be  only 
too  glad  to  keep  out  of  it.  Oh,  Lord!  Well,  it  had 
to  be  faced.  He'd  pull  her  back.  He'd  fight  for  her 
with  every  drop  of  blood  in  his  body.     Poor,  unhappy 


THE  IMMORTAL  GYMNASTS  139 

child !  Had  she  perhaps  told  his  mother  that  she  wanted 
him? 

Varian  made  a  dash  for  his  hat,  replenished  his 
cigarette-case,  seized  some  telegraph  blanks  that  he 
could  fill  out  on  the  train,  breaking  the  engagements 
of  the  afternoon  and  night,  shouting  meanwhile  for 
Susie  to  commandeer  a  taxi  from  Eccleston  Square. 

Down  at  Wimbledon,  in  the  humming  garden, 
through  the  cool  old  rooms,  poor  Anie  wandered,  the 
ghost  of  herself.  Last  week-end,  from  the  moment  of 
her  talk  with  Varian  over  the  Japanese  prints,  she  had 
been  conscious  that  an  angry  little  spot  in  her  heart 
had  softened  and  almost  melted  away.  The  following 
day  she  awoke  without  the  accustomed  sensation  of  a 
stifling,  black  curtain  drawn  over  all  the  sparkling 
summer-world,  a  curtain  that  she  must  push  aside, 
with  such  leaden  fingers,  before  she  could  raise  herself 
in  her  big,  white  bed  and  face  the  morning.  Now  she 
was  no  longer  so  oppressed.  She  opened  her  eyes  at 
the  first  bird  notes,  feeling  only  the  normal,  warm  re- 
laxation of  a  drowsy  girl.  Varian  was  constantly  in 
her  mind — his  voice,  his  head  as  he  turned  to  speak  to 
her,  his  fine,  nervous,  expressive  hands.  To  be  sure, 
she  was  in  his  atmosphere,  in  the  home  of  a  mother 
who  adored,  a  Peetybee  who  worshipped.  But  she  wel- 
comed the  spell,  holding  fast  to  the  influence  of  his 
personality,  just  as  simply  as  she  had  held  his  hand 
that  dreadful  day  in  Gordon  Square.  He  braced  her 
when  he  was  with  them ;  his  memory  when  he  was  gone. 
She  drifted  through  quiet  days,  reading,  with  a  faint, 
feebly-stirring  pleasure  in  their  robust  English,  in  their 
vivid  seventeenth-century  thoughts,  the  old  writers  that 


140  THE  IMMORTAL  GYMNASTS 

Gita  Edmonton  loved.  She  played  at  cribbage  and 
bezique  with  dear  Miss  Peet-Byng,  in  the  mellow  per- 
fumed evenings,  sitting  near  the  open  window,  full  in 
the  rose  breath  of  the  gardens,  the  little  table  between 
them  bearing  candles  and  cards,  quaint  pegs  and  ivory 
counters. 

But  now,  in  one  cruel  moment,  she  was  thrown  back 
on  herself,  cut  and  gasping,  angry  and  outraged ;  the 
fair  chapel-of-ease  in  which  she  had  taken  refuge  was 
knocked  about  her  ears ;  something  violent  in  her,  whose 
existence  she  had  scarcely  suspected,  broke  its  leash 
and  gnawed  her ;  the  small,  feeble  tendrils  of  reawaken- 
ing joy  that  had  sprung  up  under  Gita's  tender  care, 
that  had  sucked  their  nourishment  from  Varian's  pres- 
ence, that  had  turned  to  him  as  to  the  sun,  were  plucked 
up  ruthlessly,  bleeding  at  their  roots,  and  flung  away. 
She  shivered  from  head  to  foot,  holding  in  her  clammy 
little  fingers  the  instrument  of  her  torture,  one  of  Es- 
telle's  infrequent  letters,  already  two  days  old,  delayed 
in  posting,  written  at  four  o'clock  in  the  morning 
after  a  dinner  in  Ambry's  company  at  Lady  Susan 
Cust's,  and  a  dance  passed  mainly  in  his  arms.  The 
girl,  excited,  very  much  in  love,  moved  out  of  her  usual 
hard  self-control,  had  dashed  off  this  scrawl  to  the 
sister  who  was  better  than  no  confidant  at  all,  their 
mother,  unsatisfied  as  to  Ambry's  income,  both  present 
and  prospective,  being  flintlike  in  her  disapproval. 

Anie  sat  in  the  morning-room  where  her  letters  had 
been  brought  to  her.  In  all  the  quiet  chambers  there 
was  to  be  heard  nothing  more  stirring  than  a  discreet 
footfall;  garden  sounds  alone  invaded  the  almost  con- 
ventual stillness  and  tranquillity  that  Mrs.  Edmonton 


THE  IMMORTAL  GYMNASTS  141 

craved,  and  that  the  faithful  Bee  knew  the  secret  of 
securing,  even  with  a  household  of  men  and  maids. 
Anie  stared  with  hot,  strained  eyes  at  a  little  landscape 
hung  low  on  the  faded  striped  satin  of  the  wall,  just 
in  her  line  of  vision.  It  was  a  simple  enough  scene  in 
the  Jura,  the  merit  of  the  sketch  consisting  in  the  sub- 
tlety with  which  the  long  ripple  of  the  distant  foot-hills 
approximated  the  dimpling  indentations  of  a  woman's 
shoulder.  But  no  vibration  went  out  from  it  to  Anie, 
nothing  existed  for  her  at  this  moment  except  the 
brittle  paper  in  her  hand  and  the  harsh  tumult  in  her 
brain.  Oh,  she  had  been  a  fool  to  listen  to  Varian, 
to  bury  herself  down  here,  to  leave  London  without 
seeing  Ambry  again.  How  could  she  be  sure  that  Varian 
had  not  put  his  own  construction  upon  that  interview 
of  his  with  Ambry?  The  poor  child,  out  of  those 
hidden,  muddy  depths  that  even  the  most  crystal-souled 
carry  within  them,  drew  up  this  cloudy  sediment  of 
suspicion  to  poison  the  wells  of  her  faith  and  trust  in 
the  one  person  who  understood  her  miserable  plight. 
If  she  had  stayed  in  London — ah,  yes,  if  she  had,  what 
would  she  have  been  forced  to  see?  Ambry,  sick  to 
death  of  her,  bored,  hard,  and  cruel,  telling  her  so  in 
as  many  words,  turning  his  back  on  her  to  take  up 
with  Estelle,  fascinated  by  her  recklessness,  by  her 
beauty,  by  her  sharp,  witty,  careless  tongue.  This  is 
what  Estelle  had  taken  the  pains  to  write  at  four 
o'clock  in  the  morning.  She  had  lost  that  usually  high, 
cool  head,  she  was  deep  in  those  dangerous  waters  al- 
ready, deep  in  them  up  to  her  beautiful  white  shoulders 
— up  to  her  very  neck. 

Anie  moved  her  poor,  feverish  little  body  restlessly, 


142  THE  IMMORTAL  GYMNASTS 

head  and  hands  hot  and  trembling.  She  must  do  some- 
thing; she  couldn't  sit  here,  as  in  a  hideous  vacuum, 
choking  to  death.  How  mad  and  stupid  she  had  been 
to  destroy  all  those  tablets!  She  had  no  means  of 
getting  more  down  here.  .  .  .  Should  she  ask  Gita  to 
lend  her  the  car  for  the  afternoon,  to  take  her  up  to 
London?  She  would  go  directly  to  Wilton  Place,  and 
— but  here  she  stopped,  and  desperately  hid  her  eyes. 

Miss  Peet-Byng  found  her  a  quarter  of  an  hour 
later,  when  the  first  hysterical  outburst  was  sobbing  to 
its  close.  Greatly  alarmed,  the  good  Bee  knelt  and 
drew  to  her  the  hot,  hopeless,  wet  little  face,  asking  no 
questions,  soothing  the  poor  child  with  that  soft,  in- 
articulate murmur  that  pours  the  balm  of  human  sym- 
pathy into  the  torn,  the  bleeding,  the  heavy-laden.  Bee 
was  distinctly  frightened,  and  very  much  at  sea,  but 
she  did  not  show  it.  The  child  had  had  bad  news — that 
crumpled  letter.  She  would  have  to  disturb  Gita,  much 
as  she  hated  to. 

Anie  volunteered  no  explanation.  She  gave  her 
friend  a  small,  damp  kiss,  and  said  she  would  go  to 
her  room.  Bee  saw  her  safely  there,  and  then  flew  to 
Mrs.  Edmonton.  The  short  time  that  elapsed  between 
Gita's  apprisal  that  something  was  wrong  with  her 
young  guest  and  the  moment  when  she  tapped  gently 
at  Anie's  door,  short  as  it  was,  had  been  long  enough 
for  the  swallowing  of  certain  innocent-looking  white 
pellets  that  desperate,  rummaging  hands  had  seized  as 
they  lay  winking  at  the  bottom  of  the  dressing-case, 
having  in  some  unexplained  fashion  escaped  the  auto- 
da-fe  of  their  comrades. 

Listening,  alarmed,  hearing  no  answer  to  her  knock, 


THE  IMMORTAL  GYMNASTS  143 

Gita  drew  open  the  door  to  find  the  girl,  extraordinarily 
bright-eyed,  sitting  on  the  edge  of  the  bed ;  the  room  in 
disarray,  the  wardrobe  open,  the  contents  of  the  dress- 
ing-bag heaped,  pell-mell,  upon  the  floor.  The  letter 
Bee  had  spoken  of  was  nowhere  to  be  seen.  A  glass,  half- 
filled  with  water,  was  on  the  point  of  dropping  from 
Anie's  limp  hand.  The  girl,  flushed  but  dreamy,  tear- 
stained  but  composed,  seemed  fast  locked  in  some  un- 
natural reverie.  She  made  no  sign  of  having  observed 
Gita's  entrance.  The  latter  sat  down  beside  her  and 
held  her  hand,  feeling  the  pulse.  She  looked  at  the 
pupils  of  her  eyes,  at  the  glass  of  water,  at  the  dis- 
ordered dressing-bag  with  its  flock  of  gold-stoppered 
bottles.  Still  no  word  or  movement  on  Anie's  part, 
save  the  dawning  of  a  sleepy  little  satisfied  smile  on 
the  dry  lips.  .  .  .  Then  Gita  rang  for  the  maid,  sum- 
moned Bee,  ordered  strong  black  coffee,  and  between 
them,  at  the  end  of  half  an  hour,  they  had  called  the 
unhappy  child,  faint,  weak,  and  racked,  back  to  her 
pain  and  to  her  responsibilities. 

Her  head  on  Gita's  breast,  her  tears  dropping  on  the 
soft  laces  there,  she  told  her  little  story.  Estelle  took 
the  stuff,  too,  when  she  was  tired  or  fidgety.  It  is  so 
frightful  to  lie  awake  hour  after  hour.  Oh,  ever  so 
many  girls  did  it.  There  were  ways  of  getting  it — she 
didn't  know  exactly  how.  She  had  helped  herself  out 
of  Estelle's  bottle.  Still,  the  reason  for  its  use  to-day 
hung  fire. 

"  Something  upset  you  this  morning?  Won't  you 
tell  me  what?"  asked  Gita  gently.  "Your  happiness 
and  Varian's  mean  more  to  me  than  anything  else  in 
the  world.     Let  me  help  you,  little  Anie." 


144  THE  IMMORTAL  GYMNASTS 

Gita  let  her  lips  rest  where  they  fell  on  the  loops  of 
shining  hair. 

Varian's  name  pulled  the  girl  up.  Varian  had  the  key. 
Varian  knew.  Would  dear  Gita  mind  if  she  talked  to 
him? 

Dear  Gita,  immensely  relieved  at  having  struck  an 
answering  spark,  no  matter  how  faint  and  flickering, 
sent  off  a  man,  hot-foot  to  the  station,  with  a  telegram 
for  Cambridge  Street. 

Coming  up  the  drive  the  first  thing  that  caught 
Varian's  eye  was  a  magnificent,  purple  blob  of  colour, 
moving  slowly,  like  an  air-blown  bubble,  up  and  down, 
up  and  down,  before  the  shallow,  entrance  steps — his 
mother's  parasol,  from  under  whose  rosy  shadow  her 
delicate,  lace-draped  head  turned  toward  him,  her 
soft,  anxious  eyes  meeting  the  leaping  questions  in 
his. 

He  seized  her  hands.  "  What  on  earth  is  the  matter? 
I  am  frightfully  anxious.  She  is  ill?  Something  devil- 
ish has  happened?     She  has  had  letters  from  London?  " 

"  Come  into  my  room."  They  crossed  the  wide, 
shaded  hall — sweet,  too  sweet,  thought  Varian  impa- 
tiently, because  Anie  was  not  there  to  smell  it — with 
honeysuckle  and  roses  set  about  on  all  its  little  stands 
and  tables. 

His  mother  drew  him  down  beside  her  on  the  low 
sofa. 

"  It  began  with  a  letter,  from  whom  I  don't  know. 
She  hasn't  told  me.  Doubtless  the  unhappy  London 
affair  has  broken  out  again.  Either  the  man  is  writing 
to  her " — Varian  shook  his  head  impatiently — "  or 
Estelle  has   said   something   to   open   the   wounds   the 


THE  IMMORTAL  GYMNASTS  145 

poor  little  thing  is  scarred  with.  Bee  found  her  almost 
hysterical,  and  got  her  to  her  room.  Then  she  called 
me.  Now  comes  the  serious  part,  Varian."  His  mother 
looked  at  him  fixedly.  "  Oh,  Varian,  if  a  child  of 
mine  should  ever  be  so  tempted ! " 

"  Good  heavens,  mother,"  cried  the  boy,  springing  to 
his  feet,  "  tell  me  at  once  what  has  happened.  You 
leave  me  to  imagine  horrors.     She  didn't " 

"  No,  no.  She's  safe,  she's  safe.  You  are  to  see 
her  at  once.  But — when  I  found  her,  she  was  sitting 
on  the  edge  of  the  bed — her  eyes,  her  hands,  her  dry 
lips,  the  whole  look  of  her — the  tumbled  dressing-case, 
the  bottles  tossed  about.  I  knew  at  once.  She  had 
taken  some  dreadful  drug,  and  not  for  the  first  time, 
either." 

Varian  groaned.     "  Poor  little  unhappy  thing !  " 

"  Yes.  I  could  weep  when  I  think  of  Etta's  abomi- 
nable way  of  bringing  up  those  girls.  It  all  came  out. 
Estelle  does  it,  too.  Oh,  all  of  them  do.  If  you  can't 
sleep,  if  anything  goes  wrong,  well,  there's  the  con- 
venient little  bottle  on  the  dressing-table — Bee  and  I 
worked  over  her  till  she  came  out  of  it,  but  she  would 
not,  could  not,  poor  child,  quite  make  up  her  mind  to 
confide  in  me.  She  will  talk  to  you,  I  think.  You  care 
so  very  much,  Varian?  Dear  boy."  Those  soft  hands 
at  his  neck,  that  cheek  pressed  down  against  his  own ! 

"  Bless  you  for  understanding,"  he  mumbled.  "  That 
last  year  at  Crops  began  it,  and  now  the  mischief  is 
fatally  done.  I  got  hold  of  her  in  London  and  pulled 
her  back  from  shipwreck.  Will  she  let  me  carry  her 
in  my  arms  a  second  time?  They'll  wait,  empty,  itch- 
ing, all  the  rest  of  my  life,  if  she  won't.    Carita,  you're 


146  THE  IMMORTAL  GYMNASTS 

an  angel  to  her  and  to  me.  I'll  try  not  to  make  more 
of  a  fool  of  myself  than  need  be.  It  plays  the  devil 
with  work.  Fortescue  will  be  giving  me  the  sack  one 
of  these  fine  days." 

"Martini  fi   isn't  coming  on?" 

"  How  can  he,  poor  chap,  with  his  nose  so  hideously 
out  of  joint?  When  may  I  see  Anie?  Now?  Is  she 
down?     Is  she  in  the  garden?  " 

"  No,  the  light  hurts  her  eyes.  She's  in  the  Lacquer 
Closet;  I'll  take  you  up." 

His  mother  left  him  at  the  door.  He  went  in  and 
closed  it  behind  him.  The  white  face,  the  relaxed  hands, 
the  small,  helpless  figure  in  the  long,  eastern  chair,  made 
it  difficult  for  him  to  speak.  She  looked  up,  saw  him, 
and  attempted  the  ghost  of  a  smile.  He  dragged 
forward  a  carved  stool  and  sat  down  beside  her,  both  of 
them  glad  of  a  moment  or  two  of  silence. 

The  light  filtering  through  the  pieces  of  greenish 
glass  set  in  the  flat  window  was  strangely  tranquilliz- 
ing. Varian  had  always  liked  this  little  room,  due  to 
the  caprice  of  one  of  Mr.  Colfax's  ancestors  who  had 
known  the  East  before  P.  and  O.  days.  Lacquer  cabi- 
nets are  in  the  four  corners,  holding  the  most  precious 
of  porcelains,  often  more  than  daring  in  subject  to 
Western  eyes,  but  all  alike  flawless  in  period  and  in  col- 
our. But  the  curious  race  of  pygmy-men  who  crawled, 
fought,  loved  and  died  on  the  surface  of  the  cabinets 
themselves  had  ever  had  a  nightmarish  fascination  for 
Varian.  They  were  an  evil  race,  the  outcroppings  of 
some  diseased,  opium-haunted,  half-mad,  neurotic  brain, 
but  what  amazing  virtuosity  in  the  crafty  lines,  in 
the  massing  of  the  tiny,  antlike  figures,  in  the  vigour 


THE  IMMORTAL  GYMNASTS  147 

of  the  drawing,  what  intense  feeling  for  form,  in  action 
or  at  rest!  The  head  must  be  a  strong  one  that  could 
live  with  this  delirious  oriental  rout.  Luckily,  the 
scenes  were  so  small  that,  unless  you  chose  to  make  a 
business  of  it,  the  general  effect  was  merely  blurred, 
pleasing,  and  bizarre.  But  venture  a  little  nearer,  and 
you  are  lost.  Take  one  of  the  tiny  hunting  scenes, 
as  bold  as  a  Delacroix,  where  spotted  pards  tear  at  the 
throats  of  other  beasts.  This  mangling  race  of  biting, 
bleeding  animals  goes  on,  round  upon  round,  while 
the  pygmy  sportsmen,  no  less  savage  than  their  game, 
shoot  their  poisoned  arrows  into  the  scuffle.  Or  this 
arabesque,  that,  as  a  sort  of  leit-motif,  winds  its  tortu- 
ous way  among  more  active  scenes.  The  design,  at 
once  simple  and  terrible,  is  worked  out  by  means  of 
long,  sinuous  lines  resembling  the  hollow,  swaying  stems 
of  water-plants.  These  cross  and  recross  in  large,  ir- 
regular curves — such  curves  as  might  well  be  studied 
in  a  jungle,  near  a  pool,  but  here  the  reeds  bear  strange 
blossoms  on  each  snaky  tip,  their  brown,  suckerlike 
ends  expanding  into  animal  heads — a  tiger,  an  elephant, 
a  gazelle — small  but  perfect  models  that  can  loll  in 
the  breeze  like  a  flower.  In  such  a  spot,  where  the 
very  plants  take  on  bestial  attributes,  what  might  not 
happen,  you  ask  yourself,  shaking  off  the  confused 
oppression  common  to  dreams.  .    .    . 

Anie  stirred  uneasily,  and  Varian  leaned  over  and 
held  her  hand  in  a  brotherly  grasp.  These  few  quiet 
moments  face  to  face  with  her  had  given  him  an  ex- 
cellent control  of  himself.  But  she  must  be  the  first 
to  speak.     He  would  take  her  line. 

The  girl  made   a   nervous   effort   to   brace   herself 


148  THE  IMMORTAL  GYMNASTS 

against  the  sloping  back  of  her  chair.  She  freed  her 
hands,  pressing  them  down  on  either  side  of  her  on 
the  yielding  cane  till  it  creaked  again,  lifting  her  slight 
body  from  the  waist,  dragging  up  her  thin  young  legs, 
the  slim  ankles,  the  arched  feet  from  which  the  slippers, 
bronze  and  buckled,  were  ever  half-dropping.  Now  she 
could  look  him  full  in  the  face,  and  she  did  bravely 
enough. 

"  I've  been  wicked  as  well  as  weak,  Varian,"  she  said, 
her  voice  pitched  a  little  higher  than  usual.  "  Gita 
made  that  plain.  Her  horror  of — me !  "  She  searched 
him  with  her  miserable  eyes.  "Was  it  so  bad  of  me? 
Am  I  tainted?    Am  I  lost?    What  did  Gita  tell  you?  " 

"  Oh,  you  poor  child,  don't  you  think  I  understand? 
Whatever  you  do  is,  in  the  doing,  changed  for  me. 
Can't  you  see  that?  For  me,  you  are  always  the  little 
girl  at  Crops,  and  I  am  here  to  be  turned  to,  to  be  the 
brother  you  never  had — if  that  is  what  you  want  me 
to  be."  Varian  smiled  an  internal,  rueful  smile  at  the 
insipid  role  for  which  he  had  thus  cast  himself.  He 
must  get  her  confidence,  in  order  to  frighten  her  away 
from  that  easy,  royal,  drowsy,  white-pellet-strewn  road ; 
on  whose  border  her  feet  were  even  now  perhaps  stray- 
ing— nervous,  indecisive,  terrified  feet,  digging  holes 
in  the  spongy,  sickly  turf  with  an  irritable  toe  and 
heel.  .  .  .  Anie,  Anie,  you  little  fool!  He  must  drag 
her  back  to  firm,  fresh  foothold  on  the  hard,  clean 
gravel  of  sane  living,  if  he  had  to  hurt  her  badly  in 
the  doing. 

"  Oh,  you  are  good  to  me,  but  I  am  horrid."  She 
would  not  look  at  him  now.  "  I  fancied  I  was  getting 
stronger,   more   sensible.     Who   could  help   it  in  this 


THE  IMMORTAL  GYMNASTS  149 

beautiful,  peaceful  spot  with  your  mother?  In  London 
I  was  torn  in  pieces,  and  mamma  hounded  me  so. 
You  got  me  out  of  that.     Then  this  letter  comes " 

"What  letter?  From  whom?"  Varian's  irritation 
was  not  quite  so  well  under  control  as  he  had  im- 
agined. 

"  No,  no,  not  from  him,"  she  hastened  to  reassure. 
"Oh,  rather  not.  What  does  he  care?  It  was  from 
Estelle,  written  at  four  o'clock  in  the  morning,  after  a 
dance  at — no  matter  where,  I  forget.  She's  mad  about 
him,  do  you  understand?  She  had  been  dancing  with 
him  all  night.  To  have  Estelle,  who  is  so  proud — , 
write  such  things  !  " 

"  Anie,  listen  to  me."  Varian  forced  her  look. 
"  Can't  you  face  it  ?  Are  you  so  weak  as  all  that  ? 
I  don't  believe  it.  Didn't  I  put  it  crudely  enough  in 
London?  Whatever  you  felt  for  Ambry  was  no  last- 
ing sentiment.  How  could  it  be?  It  had  no  root  in 
anything  but  a  certain  personal  fascination  he  knows 
how  to  use  when  he  chooses.  You  had  your  day ;  now  it 
is  Estelle's  turn.  Am  I  too  brutal?  I  maintain  that 
you  do  not  love — that  you  never  have  loved  Ambry. 
What  do  you  know  about  it,  you  poor  little  thing? 
It  was  only  a  glamour  you  were  caught  in.  He  man- 
ages cleverly  enough.  How  were  you,  in  your  inno- 
cence, to  realize?  It  was  that  very  incomprehension 
of  yours  that  bored  him.  You  were  always  beating 
your  dove's  wings  toward  the  sky,  and  he  knew  himself 
to  be  clipped  and  caged,  down  in  the  mud.  What  hap- 
pens? He  throws  you  over  in  the  frankest  terms,  and 
whistles  for  Estelle.  .  .  .  Yes,  I  mean  to  hurt  you. 
You  must  whip  up  your  pride.   You  must  save  yourself, 


150  THE  IMMORTAL  GYMNASTS 

no  matter  what  happens  to  them.  Do  you  care  to 
admit  that  you  are  jealous?  Impossible.  Nevertheless, 
you  go  to  pieces,  and  are  mad  enough,  culpably  weak 
enough,  to  drug  yourself.  Oh,  he  has  poisoned  you, 
you're  tainted  with  him,  if  you  can  do  that !  " 

He  watched  her.  Yes,  he  had  almost  succeeded.  He 
had  flicked  her  pride.  A  little  flush  was  creeping  up 
the  white  cheek.  The  hands  were  less  restless.  He 
pressed  his  advantage. 

"  I  don't  suppose  you  know  for  a  moment  to  what 
degradation  that  simple  pellet  commits  you.  If  you 
had  the  faintest  idea — no,  don't  be  afraid,  I'm  not  go- 
ing into  horrors — you  would  never  touch  it  again.  It 
is  simply  damnable  the  way  girls  are  brought  up. 
Fancy  your  having  the  stuff!  And  the  cowardice  of 
it!  In  order  to  forget  for  a  few  hours  the  natural 
shock  that  letter  gave  you,  you  wantonly  imperil  your 
whole  life.     O  Anie,  for  God's  sake,  pull  up !  " 

He  had  said  more  than  he  meant  to,  but,  as  he  spoke, 
he  had  seen  her  sitting  on  the  edge  of  the  bed — vague, 
stupefied,  drowsily  smiling,  as  his  mother  had  described, 
and  everything  manly,  clean,  and  sane  within  him  had 
revolted.  He  could  have  shaken  her,  he  could  have 
sworn  at  her — he  could  have  struck  her — and  he  felt 
so  helpless. 

Going  over  to  the  window  he  set  it  wide  open,  and 
stood  looking  out,  seeing  absolutely  nothing.  But  his 
ear  strained  for  the  least  sound.  It  came — the  creak- 
ing of  the  bamboo,  the  click  of  heels  on  the  polished 
floor.  Then  the  sense  of  touch  vibrated,  sending  a 
thousand  prickling  messages  up  his  arm  to  his  brain, 
for  Anie  had  put  her  hand  in  his,  holding  it  firmly, 


THE  IMMORTAL  GYMNASTS  151 

pressing  her  other  on  his  shoulder,  keeping  him  turned 
to  the  window. 

"  Don't  look  at  me.  I  am  too  hideous.  Never,  never, 
never,  so  long  as  we  both  live,  will  I  touch  one  of 
those  abominable  things  again.  I'll  burn  inside  and 
out  first.  I  am  low.  I  am  jealous.  But  you  have 
shown  me  how  to  fight.  Gita  showed  me  this  morning. 
She  could  not  conceal  her  horror  of  me.  To  her  I 
was  unclean." 

Varian  turned  to  protest,  to  take  her  in  his  arms, 
losing  his  head  under  the  direct,  close  pressure  of  those 
small  hot  hands. 

"  No,  no,  don't  move — not  just  yet.  I  must  tell  you 
something  else.  From  this  moment  I  will  try  never 
to  think  of  Ambry  again,  intimately,  as  someone  who 
has — (he  knew  she  gulped  over  it)  who  has  kissed  me, 
as  someone  whom  I  thought  I  loved.  You  have  shown 
me  my  stupid  folly,  but  why  didn't  he  leave  me  alone? 
I  bored  him  from  the  very  beginning.  We  never  thought 
the  same  thoughts.  He  never  knew  me.  Varian,  that's 
all  over  now — dead,  dead,  dead.  I  am  going  to  show 
you  and  Gita  that  I  am  not  such  a  miserable  little 
fool  as  you  imagine.  I  have  some  soldier-blood  in 
me  as  well  as  you.  Will  Gita  keep  me  on  a  little  longer, 
do  you  think?  Will  she  want  me  with  her  now?  "  Such 
an  anxious,  flushed  face  barely  laid  against  his  arm, 
as  she  moved  around  to  look  up  at  him!  Varian  mas- 
tered a  weakness  that  made  him  want  to  sit  down. 

"  Anie,  you  amazing  little  humbug !  Don't  you  know 
she  loves  you !  " 

He  felt  that  they  had  both  had  enough.  He  must 
get  her  down  gently  from  the  heroic  pitch.    He  did  not 


153  THE  IMMORTAL  GYMNASTS 

fear  a  reaction,  however.  He  knew  the  voice  of  an 
awakened  will,  however  girlish,  however  feminine,  when 
he  heard  it.  But  her  nerves  would  presently  set  her 
humming  if  he  didn't  change  the  note. 

"  The  day  is  divine.  Come  into  the  garden.  We'll 
pick  up  Gita  and  Bee  and  have  a  conversazione  in  the 
Bois.  I  have  a  premonition  that  I  shall  devour  a  tre- 
mendous luncheon.  Then  this  afternoon  you  shall  read 
to  me.     Come !  " 

"  My  face  is  so  hot.  Let  me  run  and  put  some 
powder  on  my  nose.  Will  you  tell  Gita  I  am  coming 
down  ?     Will  you  give  her  my  love,  too,  Varian  ?  " 

She  stood  with  her  hand  on  the  low  door  leading  into 
her  bedroom.  Varian  had  opened  the  other  one  that 
communicated  with  a  private  corridor. 

"  Varian " 

He  went  over  to  her. 

"  If  you  mind  my  hanging  on  you,  you  must  say  so 
now.  For  I  do  hang,  body  and  soul,  you  poor  boy ! " 
Eyes  and  lips  smiled  at  him  as  she  vanished.  He  did 
not  care  to  analyze  just  then  the  impression  her  words 
gave  him.  He  had  a  shrewd  notion  that  they  would 
be  all  he  would  have  to  feed  on  for  some  time  to  come. 
So  he  went  down  to  reassure  a  troubled  Gita,  wander- 
ing restlessly  about  the  hall,  pinching  unhappy  rose- 
buds not  used  to  such  treatment.  She  went  forward  to 
meet  him. 

"Well?" 

"  More  than  well,"  he  answered.  "  I've  frightened 
her  out  of  her  wits.  She'll  never  touch  one  of  those 
beastly  things  again.  She'll  fight.  She  has  it  in  her. 
It  seems  the  same  chap  is  now  hanging  around  Estelle, 


THE  IMMORTAL  GYMNASTS  153 

who  doesn't  know  of  his  affair  with  Anie — not  that  it 
would  greatly  disturb  that  young  lady  if  she  did.  Oh, 
it's  a  miserable  business  all  around.  The  worst  of  it 
is  that  Ambry  and  I  have  always  been  friends,  but  he 
should  have  kept  his  claws  off  a  young  thing  like  Anie. 
Estelle  can  jolly  well  look  out  for  herself,  but  poor 
Anie  dropped  like  a  shot.  It  naturally  makes  me  boil. 
He  has  acted  like  an  ineffable  cad,  and  I  had  to  tell 
him  so;  but,  will  you  believe  it?  he  considers  that  we 
are  still  friends,  and,  when  I  come  to  think  of  it,  I 
don't  know  that  he's  far  wrong.  When  you  are  with 
him — there  is  something.  It  lies  deeper  than  his  ex- 
traordinary good  looks." 

"Who  is  this  wonderful  youth?"  asked  his  mother. 
"  Ambry — not  Sir  Ambry  Nunholme  ?  " 

"  Yes.  Do  you  remember  him  ?  You  never  saw  him, 
did  you?     Do  you  know  his  mother?  " 

"  Oh,  slightly,  years  ago.  Your  letters  from  Oxford 
used  to  be  full  of  the  boy." 

"  Everyone  spoils  him.  He's  that  type.  I  almost 
think  Estelle  may  land  him.  She's  that  type,  too. 
The  whole  affair  makes  me  rather  sick.  Why 
aren't  there  more  sweet  women  in  the  world  like  you, 
mother?  " 

"  Is  she  coming  down,  dear?    What  am  I  to  say?  " 

"  Nothing.  Leave  it  to  her.  She  sent  her  love  to 
you,  and  hopes  you'll  %  keep  her  on  ' !  " 

"Poor  child!" 

Anie  had  bathed  her  face,  powdered  her  nose,  and 
slipped  on  a  batiste  frock  with  a  high,  babyish  belt. 
She  joined  them,  not  more  shyly  than  might  have  been 
expected.     Gita  kissed  her,  as  if  she  saw  her  for  the 


154  THE  IMMORTAL  GYMNASTS 

first  time  that  morning.  This  put  them  all  at  their 
ease. 

"  We  must  make  the  most  of  our  young  man,"  Gita 
was  saying,  her  arm  in  Anie's,  gently  drawing  her 
toward  the  terrace.  "  He  tells  me  he  must  go  back  to 
London  and  his  writing-table  after  dinner.  Varian, 
bring  the  parasols,  will  you?  They  are  in  the  corner 
by  the  clock.  What  a  heavenly  day  it  is!  We  must 
not  pass  more  of  it  indoors  than  we  can  help.  Are  you 
sure  you  don't  want  to  run  up  to  town,  Anie?  You 
know  you  can  have  the  car  and  Bee  whenever  you 
wish." 

"  Oh,  no,  no,"  cried  the  girl  rather  piteously,  as  if 
shrinking  from  something  that  hurt  her.  Varian 
couldn't  keep  his  eyes  off  her.  Of  this  she  was  no 
doubt  conscious,  but  she  wouldn't  look  at  him. 

"  Well,"  went  on  Gita  easily,  bent  upon  making  con- 
versation, as  she  could  get  no  aid  from  the  meditative, 
youthful  pair  who  dutifully  accompanied  her,  one  on 
either  side,  holding  green  and  violet  sunshades,  "  Well, 
what  of  that  little  expedition  of  yours  to  Countess 
Street  to  the  Boutique  des  Miracles,  that  you  wrote 
me  about  the  other  day,  where  the  pretty  young  woman, 
the  athletic  young  man,  and  the  aged  father  whom  you 
did  not  see — a  complete  bill  of  the  play — are  even  now 
engaged  in  collaborating  with  us  and  our  milk  cans? 
Anie  and  I  are  thirsting  for  more  details.  I  believe 
they  must  all  be  long-lost  heirs  to  some  cloudy  mar- 
quisate,  or  to  a  barony,  at  the  least.  Nothing  more 
unlike  shopkeepers  could  well  be  imagined.  Varian, 
if  Anie  and  I  come  up  some  afternoon  next  week,  or 
the  week  after,  will  you  take  us  there?    Why  not  have 


THE  IMMORTAL  GYMNASTS  155 

them  down  here  afterwards,  just  ourselves,  you  know, 
for  tea  in  the  garden  before  the  roses  are  gone?  Peo- 
ple like  that,  with  energy  and  ideas,  are  the  only  ones 
who  ever  repay  the  tiresome  effort  we  make  to  know 
them.  How  does  that  strike  you?"  giving  her  dream- 
ing son's  arm  a  pinch. 

u  Jolly ! "  he  replies,  with  the  exaggerated  conviction 
of  one  who  wishes  to  prove  to  you  that  he  has  been 
following  your  conversation  with  an  attention  so  in- 
tense as  to  be  almost  fatiguing.  This,  of  course,  never 
takes  anyone  in,  neither  did  it  in  this  instance  seduce 
so  naturally  credulous  a  person  as  a  mother. 

"  We  must  talk  it  over  when  you  come  down  on 
Saturday,"  went  on  the  indefatigable  Gita,  not  having 
rambled  along  with  so  little  encouragement  for  years. 
"  Bring  with  you  what  you  have  done  on  Martini  P- 
I  want  to  see  it." 

Still  that  dreaming  silence,  the  young  feet  carefully 
keeping  pace  with  hers,  the  hands  busy  manipulating 
sunshades,  so  that  they  should  not  catch  in  one's  laces 
or  one's  hair,  the  eyes  busy  with  the  Lord  knows  what, 
over  one's  head,  plunged  into  the  shadowless  turquoise 
blue  of  the  summer  sky.  .    .    . 

The  faithful  Bee  came  to  the  rescue,  mounting  the 
terrace  steps  laboriously,  her  basket  overflowing  with 
the  coquettish,  flaunting  little  faces  of  the  sweet  peas, 
dyed  every  delicious  tone  of  salmon,  of  shell  pink,  of 
lemon,  of  cream,  of  citron,  of  orange.  Just  to  enu- 
merate them,  just  to  look  at  them,  made  you  thirsty  for 
some  cool  drink  in  tall,  thin,  frosty  glasses. 

"  Oh,  I  say,  Peetybee,  dear,  you  look  most  awfully 
hot,"  exclaimed  Varian,  giving  his  mother  her  purple 


156  THE  IMMORTAL  GYMNASTS 

parasol  in  order  to  relieve  Bee  of  basket  and  gardening 
scissors.  "  Come  down  to  the  Bois  with  us  and  I'll  fan 
you  with  a  cabbage  leaf  if  there's  one  about." 

Bee's  warm  face  beamed  on  her  boy,  her  disregarded 
spectacles  zigzagging  rakishly  across  her  narrow  fore- 
head, her  faded  blue  eyes  filled  with  the  light  she  could 
always  summon  up  for  him. 

"  My  dear  Varian,  let  me  go.  I  must  arrange  these 
for  the  luncheon-table,"  stretching  out  tentative  fingers 
after  her  ravished  basket. 

"Arrange?  Nonsense!"  her  boy  carried  it  off  with 
a  high  hand.  "  Mother,  did  you  ever  hear  of  anything 
so  absurd?  We'll  stuff  them  into  their  little  pots  and 
jars  in  two  minutes,  and  whisk  them  on  the  table  before 
Jackson  has  had  time  to  think  of  handing  the  fish,  or 
whatever  else  we  begin  with.     See  if  we  don't !  " 

Gita  laughed.  "  Humour  him,  my  dear  Bee.  He 
has  had  a  touch  of  the  sun,  I  think.  Give  me  your  arm. 
Let  Anie  and  Varian  go  ahead  to  pull  out  our  chairs 
for  us." 

So  the  batiste  gown  and  the  green  parasol  vanished 
behind  the  laurels  beside  an  impetuous  Varian,  who, 
giving  rein  to  his  spirits  after  the  cold  douche  of  the 
morning,  played  them  out  gayly.  Watching  for  a 
smile  on  those  lips  to  which  the  deep  red  was  slowly 
ebbing  back.   .    .    . 

"  What  a  morning  you  have  had,  dear  Gita,"  Bee 
gently  fussed.  "  You  must  let  me  tuck  you  up  directly 
after  luncheon.     Is  Varian  staying  on  ?  " 

"  He  will  dine  with  us.  He  tells  me  he  must  go  back 
to-night.  You  see  he  has  pulled  her  up.  I  took  him 
into   the  Lacquer  Closet  where  she  was   lying  down, 


THE  IMMORTAL  GYMNASTS  157 

limp  as  a  rag.  He  was  with  her  for  more  than  an  hour. 
He  finally  appeared,  all  the  strain  gone,  with  the  good 
news  that  he  had  frightened  her  out  of  her  senses,  and 
that  she  had  solemnly  promised  never  to  touch  the 
dreadful  thing  again.  There  has  been  an  unfortunate 
singeing  of  inexperienced  wings  in  London,  you  under- 
stand, Bee,  and  one  of  her  letters  made  too  close  a 
reference  to  it.  It  hurt,  of  course,  and  behold,  she 
rushes  to  her  tablets.  Oh,  these  modern  girls  and 
modern  mothers!  Etta  is  worse  than  I  thought  her. 
If  we  can  keep  Anie  with  us  for  a  month  or  so — she 
begs  to  stay — we  shall  have  her  little  heart  and  mind 
and  soul  washed  clean  and  sweet.  She  will  be  empty, 
unmarked,  quite  virginal,  tabula  rasa,  as  is  fitting. 
Then  will  come  our  boy's  opportunity." 

Bee  opened  wide  her  eyes  of  amazement.     Gita  gave 
her  a  little  shake. 

"  Look,  my  dear,  what  more  do  you  want?  " 
They  raked  the  green  entrance  to  the  Bois.  The 
chairs  having  been  duly  placed,  Varian  had  thrown  him- 
self down  near  the  one  containing  the  small  batiste 
figure,  the  dark,  little  bare  head.  His  attitude,  his 
gaze,  his  stillness  said  nothing  yet  betrayed  everything. 


CHAPTER  ELEVEN 

A  MBRY  on  the  day  of  Lady  Susan's  dinner,  feel- 
/-\     ing   rather  let-down,   was    smoking  a  tasteless 
**"  cigarette  after  breakfast,  stretched  full-length 

on  the  lounge  under  the  window,  flicking  from  time  to 
time  tiny  cones  of  grey  ash  over  the  ruddy  heads  of  the 
geraniums  in  the  green  box  below  the  striped  awning. 
Lord!  what  a  bore  it  was  becoming  to  pick  up  the 
day  when  you  hadn't  gone  to  bed  till  five  o'clock  of 
that  same  morning.  He  must  get  away  for  longer  than 
a  week-end.  Estelle  was  growing  a  little  bit  too  much 
for  him.  They  were  beginning  to  be  invited  a  little  too 
uniformly  together.  She  was  capable  of  managing 
that,  confound  her.  He  was  sure  Lady  Cassock  knew 
nothing  about  it.  She  showed  her  vexation  too  plainly. 
He  had  never  felt  so  hunted  in  his  life.  By  Jove,  he'd 
clear  out.  But,  as  he  mentally  said  it,  he  knew  he 
should  never  do  it.  He  hated  exertion  and  planning 
and  getting  the  money  together.  He  wrinkled  his 
brows.  Look  at  the  bills  on  the  table  now.  Great 
heavens!  Estelle  ought  to  know  he  couldn't  marry. 
What  was  she  after  ?  Why  didn't  her  mother  look  out 
for  her  a  bit?  It  wasn't  his  place.  He  took  what  he 
could  get.  What  eyes  she  had  when  she  threw  her 
head  back  against  your  shoulder!  He  could  feel  her 
elastic  figure  under  his  hand  now.  She  had  given  him 
practically  every  dance  last  night,  sitting  out  with  the 
other  fellows  when   she  had  to,  just  to  appease  her 

158 


THE  IMMORTAL  GYMNASTS  159 

mother.  They  had  rather  cooked  their  goose,  he  was 
afraid. 

This  London  life  was  all  very  well,  but  women  and 
girls  got  hold  of  you  so.  You  had  nothing  to  do  except 
the  things  they  did,  and  consequently  they  had  you. 
No  matter  how  early  you  rode,  some  confounded  habit 
was  there  before  you.  They  swarmed  at  polo,  they 
haunted  the  river,  you  fell  over  them  in  Bond  Street, 
they  grabbed  you  for  tea,  hounded  you,  one  on  either 
side  at  dinner,  captured  you  for  every  dance,  or  your 
hostess  did  it  for  them.  You  ran  down  somewhere — 
anywhere — the  most  unlikely  of  places  for  the  week- 
end, and  one  was  sure  to  pop  up  under  your  nose  on 
the  very  station. 

He  simply  couldn't  let  this  Estelle  business  go  on. 
She  had  evidently  lost  her  head — he  had,  too,  for  a  wild 
moment,  but  he'd  found  it  again — and  he  would  have 
to  pay  the  piper.  O  Lord,  what  a  grind  it  was!  He 
supposed  it  was  different  with  a  girl  in  your  own  set. 
With  the  other  kind  you  could  put  it  rather  plainty. 
Also,  as  he  could  not  afford  to  forget,  Estelle  was  no 
Anie.  He  was  glad,  in  a  way,  because  they  met  more 
on  a  level.  With  the  other  little  one,  always  in  the 
clouds,  pleading,  plaintive,  helpless,  so  foolishly  small 
and  thin,  reedy  like  an  undeveloped  child,  devouring 
you  with  her  eyes,  you  were  continually  at  a  disad- 
vantage, trying  to  play  up,  and  hating  it — bored  when 
she  gazed  at  you,  savage  when  she  touched  you,  des- 
perately determined  to  shake  her  off,  cost  what  it 
might.  She  had  made  him  feel  like  a  cad,  which  is 
never  pleasant  to  your  Ambrys,  a  certain  fastidiousness 
in  their  simple  egotism  demanding  that  nothing  shall 


160  THE  IMMORTAL  GYMNASTS 

shake  their  inner  faith  in  themselves — the  most  intense 
thing  about  them. 

Anie's  sweetness,  her  innocent  showing  of  her  little 
moved  heart,  had  come  as  near  as  anything  in  his  ex- 
perience to  touching  to  life  Ambry's  better  qualities, 
the  manly,  decent,  wholesome  ones  that  had  had  a  kind 
of  forced  spring  at  Oxford,  but  that  the  London  air 
had  nipped  and  shrivelled.  For  a  moment,  under  Anie's 
fingers,  in  the  first  flush  of  their  meeting  down  there 
in  the  old  country  house,  these  tender  shoots  had  very 
visibly  stirred  and  trembled.  But  it  couldn't  last,  the 
renascence  was  not  yet.  He  had  never  mentioned  her  to 
Estelle ;  he  didn't  even  know  if  she  knew  he  knew  her. 
Estelle  was  busy  with  her  own  affairs,  and  with  his,  evi- 
dently. He  thought  with  vexation  of  the  telegram  at  this 
moment  in  his  pocket,  commanding  him,  with  all  the 
curtness  of  their  code,  to  meet  her  at  eleven  in  front  of 
Harrod's.  What  extraordinary  places  she  chose !  He 
hoped  she'd  have  the  sense  to  be  there  on  time.  He 
didn't  see  himself  patrolling,  if  she  weren't  there.  Half 
a  hundred  people  they  knew  might  run  over  them.  Well, 
it  was  on  her  own  head.  She  wouldn't  listen  to  reason. 
To  be  sure,  she  had  a  way  of  galvanizing  you,  when 
you  were  with  her,  so  that  you  went  farther  than  you 
ever  meant  to.  She  was  so  vivid,  so  high-blooded,  as 
free  and  strong  as  a  young  colt.  If  she  ever  were  to 
feel  the  bit  some  day,  he  had  a  disgusted  suspicion  that 
his  hand  would  not  be  the  one  to  press  it  home  between 
those  full  red  lips.  She  would  be  the  one  to  run  him. 
Well,  then,  he  must  escape.  He'd  tell  her  so  this  very 
day,  when  he  had  got  her  away  from  Harrod's  into  the 
backwater  of  some  half-slummy  street.     How  he  hated 


THE  IMMORTAL  GYMNASTS  161 

them!  You  fell  over  children  and  cats.  It  was  hot, 
noisy,  deadly.  He  believed  women  liked  such  things. 
It  was  "  shady,"  it  was  adventurous.  It  was  all  that, 
but  it  was  damned  unpleasant,  too.  They  ought  to 
have  enough  sense  to  realize  that  a  chap  can't  stand 
much  of  that  sort  of  thing.  At  least,  let  the 
suggestion  for  such  clandestine  snatches  come  from 
him.  But,  oh  no,  the  modern  girl  takes  one  bite  at 
you,  and  holds  on.  You  are  the  prey,  not  she,  as  in 
those  dim  Victorian  days.  The  Ambrys  of  the  time, 
these  fine  flowers  of  our  latest  civilization,  thus  show 
the  weaknesses  of  over-cultivation.  Their  women  are 
no  longer  the  innocent  victims  of  native  brawn  or  the 
well-seasoned  club.  Far  from  it;  the  ladies  scan  your 
points  with  an  appraising  eye,  mark  you  down  for  their 
own,  asking  no  assistance  from  mamma,  and  get  you, 
too,  by  Jove! 

Estelle  had  practically  kidnapped  Ambry,  but  he 
still  had  some  fight  left  in  him.  Aid  and  comfort,  how- 
ever, from  an  unexpected  quarter  were  already  on  the 
way.  Had  he  glanced  out,  with  those  fine,  lazy,  half- 
sulky  eyes  of  his,  under  the  striped  awning,  over  the  ash- 
dotted  red  geraniums,  into  the  sunny  morning  street, 
he  would  have  seen  a  solitary  Grouchy,  marshalling 
airy  legions  to  his  very  doorstep,  numerous  enough  to 
turn  the  scale  of  his  imminent  Waterloo. 

As  he  pulled  himself  up  to  reach  a  long  arm 
for  a  cigarette,  Dodgson  knocked  and  presented  a 
card. 

"  Not  a  confounded  bill  in  person,  eh  ?  "  demanded 
Ambry,  his  eyes  on  the  man,  his  fingers  fumbling 
vaguely  over  the  salver. 


162  THE  IMMORTAL  GYMNASTS 

"  Oh,  no,  Sir  Ambry,"  responded  the  dutiful  one.  "  A 
gentleman." 

"  Bills  often  look  like  that,  nowadays." 

He  held  the  card  under  his  nose.  "  Good  Lord !  what 
can  he  want?  "  he  murmured.  "  Show  him  up,  will  you? 
And  I'm  not  home  to  anyone  else." 

He  got  to  his  feet,  touched  his  collar  and  tie,  saw 
to  his  handkerchief,  slipped  his  cigarette-case  into  its 
accustomed  pocket,  looked  at  his  watch,  tweaked  the 
travelling-clock  into  position  so  that  its  face  shone 
roundly  at  you  across  the  room — he  must  leave  himself 
ten  minutes  to  get  to  Harrod's,  even  if  he  had  to  put  his 
guest  out  by  the  shoulders. 

Another  instant  and  he  had  walked  across  the  room 
to  meet  his  friend,  greeting  him  warmly,  almost  shyly, 
if  we  can,  without  too  much  difficulty,  associate  such  a 
manner  with  what  we  know  of  our  young  man,  who 
was  really  of  rather  simple  a  mechanism  for  all  his 
gorgeous  exterior. 

"  It's  most  awfully  good  of  you  to  look  me  up,"  he 
began.  "  Do  sit  down,  here  by  the  window — it's  rather 
hot,  isn't  it? — and  have  a  cigarette." 

"  Thanks.  It's  good  to  get  out  of  the  glare  of  the 
streets.  You  are  wise  to  hang  an  awning.  You  seem 
most  comfortable  here — very  good  rooms — nice  street, 
fairly  quiet  for  London.  How  are  you?  You  haven't 
put  on  an  inch  since  Oxford  days.  Do  you  train? 
Polo,  eh?" 

The  visitor  leaned  back  in  the  leather  chair,  crossed 
a  pair  of  thin  legs,  showing  a  generous  length  of  violet 
stocking,  held  his  finger-tips  together  in  the  way  that 
has  been  said  to  hall-mark  your  curate,  and  bent  a 


THE  IMMORTAL  GYMNASTS  163 

keenly  interested,  reflective  gaze  upon  his  young  friend, 
from  behind  the  heavy,  distorting  lenses  of  his  spec- 
tacles. The  thin,  ungainly  figure,  the  bent  shoulders, 
the  meagre  neck  seemed  at  pains  to  rear  upright  the 
massive  weight  of  that  fine  head,  with  its  closely-set 
ears,  its  beaked  nose,  its  extensive  brow  intensified  by 
the  retreat  of  the  fast-thinning  hair,  with  its  thousand 
and  one  pleasant  little  subtleties  of  modelling  due  to 
the  restless,  unceasing  reaction  of  the  mind  upon  its 
encasing  flesh. 

After  Ambry  had  gone  down,  Johnstone-Ford  had 
heard  from  him  in  some  half-dozen  enthusiastic  letters 
scattered  through  his  first  year  of  London  life,  as  his 
set  leads  it.  Then  the  inevitable  slump  had  followed. 
No  one  reads  in  London,  Ambry  discovered,  and  serious 
talk  is  always  boring.  He  fell  out  of  touch  with  his 
old  tutor ;  certain  secret  bookish  inclinations  died  a  nat- 
ural death.  He  could  think  of  nothing  appropriate  to 
say,  so  he  wrote  no  more.  Twice  only  had  he  seen 
Ford,  since  leaving  Oxford,  once  for  a  few  moments  in 
London  after  an  international  scientific  congress ;  once 
in  Baden-Baden  whither  Ford  had  drifted  one  after- 
noon from  some  obscure,  cheap  cure  he  was  making  in 
the  vicinity. 

Now  he  sat  here,  in  Ambry's  rooms,  in  his  leather 
chair,  and  looked  at  him  in  the  same  old,  kindly,  owlish 
way.  The  boy's  heart  met  him,  his  mind  grew  alert,  he 
was  glad  Ford  had  come.  But  where  had  he  dropped 
from,  and  why? 

"  You  are  surprised  to  see  me,  no  doubt,"  remarked 
Ford.  "  You  do  not  get  our  little  Oxford  news.  I  am 
off  for  a  year  " — Ambry  made  a  movement  of  astonish- 


164  THE  IMMORTAL  GYMNASTS 

ment — "  Yes,  that  is  the  usual  gesture,  but  one  does 
not  choose  oftentimes  to  take  the  whole  world  into  one's 
confidence.  To  you,  my  dear  boy,  I  can  easily  say 
that  it  is  by  the  doctor's  orders,  but  this  need  not  go 
any  further.  Young  Talbot  has  stepped  into  my  shoes 
and  I  am  on  leave,  here  in  London,  free  to  carry  out 
certain  small  experiments  that  have  been  germinating 
in  my  mind  for  some  years.  My  book  is  shelved ;  there 
is  to  be  no  work  of  that  kind.  Again  you  perceive  the 
harsh  professional  note  of  the  medical  schools.  So  I 
am  experimenting  with  life,  externally,  empirically,  as 
it  were.  I  confess  there  is  a  stimulus  in  it,  but  you 
must  let  yourself  go.  I  am  just  beginning  to  learn 
how  to  do  so.  I  had  no  idea  I  had  been  growing  so  stiff, 
mentally  and  physically.  Well!  Now  to  my  point.  I 
am  the  Secretary  and  General  Manager  of  a  Neigh- 
bourhood Guild,  a  sort  of  shelter  for  men  and  boys, 
non-sectarian,  and  sufficiently  flavoured  with  socialistic 
notions  to  meet  the  taste  of  the  day.  You  must  under- 
stand that  all  that  part  of  it  is  quite  indifferent  to  me. 
The  founder,  a  wealthy  manufacturer  who  keeps  us  go- 
ing financially,  oh,  liberally,  you  know,  also  supplies 
the  shoddy  propaganda  to  catch  the  ear  of  the  homeless 
multitude " 

"  But  what  are  you  doing  in  that  galere,  in  heaven's 
name  ?  "  burst  out  Ambry. 

Johnstone-Ford  fixed  him  with  a  gaze  rather  humour- 
ously magnified  by  his  glasses  into  a  good-natured 
glare. 

"  I  do  not  find  that  so  easy  to  explain.  For  some 
years  I  have  been  conscious  of  a  desire  to  try  my  skill 
upon  the  virgin  material  a  slum  provides  in  such  un- 


THE  IMMORTAL  GYMNASTS  165 

grudging  abundance.  The  crude,  the  dumb,  the  in- 
articulate, the  raw1  product  of  the  poor,  the  waifs  with 
no  background — upon  such  as  these  I  have  felt  a 
veritable  itch  to  experiment.  The  charms  of  birth,  of 
breeding,  of  sophistication,  the  queer  little  mental  de- 
posits due  to  centuries  of  inbreeding — of  all  this  I  have 
had  enough  and  to  spare  with  you  and  your  likes  at 
Oxford.     We  swim  along  together  with  the  current  as 

it  ever  sets,  la-bas,  but "     Ford  recrossed  the  left 

leg  over  the  right  and  mused  upon  the  exchange. 

"But  what?"     Ambry  felt  he  must  get  him  on. 

"  The  pace  was  stultifying.  I  was  turning  to 
mummy,"  Ford  tapped  his  chest  with  one  long  finger. 
"  I  had  nourished  for  some  time,  as  I  have  just  told 
you,  the  wish  to  inoculate  the  perfectly  undeveloped, 
the  potentially  worthless  offspring  of  the  very  poor 
with — well,  with  what  do  you  suppose  ? — Greek !  "  He 
brought  it  out  with  such  whimsical  defiance  that  Ambry 
shouted. 

"  Homeric  laughter  is  good  for  the  soul.  Laugh  on, 
my  boy,  but  come  down  and  see  me  with  one  of  my 
evening  classes.  You  will  change  your  note.  You  will 
perceive  that  if  you  awaken  the  intelligence  with  a 
shock,  if  you  hold  its  nose  under  water — even  of  the 
Pierian  Spring — till  your  young  victim  has  become 
purple,  he  will,  when  released,  suck  of  that  gladly 
which  before  had  been  his  bane.  But  enough  of  cloudy 
theory." 

Johnstone-Ford  sat  up  straight  and  drew  a  watch 
from  his  pocket.  So  he,  too,  had  an  appointment. 
Ambry  breathed  again. 

"  How  you  ever  make  your  young  ruffians  swallow 


166  THE  IMMORTAL  GYMNASTS 

it  at  all  is  a  tribute  to  your  character.  Why  you  don't 
find  yourself  with  a  small-sized  riot  on  your  hands 
and  a  wrecked  Neighbourhood  House  is  a  mystery  to 
me.  Also,  the  whole  affair  is  dead  against  the  found- 
er's intentions,  isn't  it?  Socialism  and  the  Classics — 
the  lion  and  the  lamb!     How  have  you  managed  it?" 

"  Oh,  very  easily.  Our  worthy  manufacturer  has  a 
healthy  contempt  for  the  literate.  He  knows  that  I 
and  my  Greek  are  equally  doomed  to  a  just  extinction 
in  no  long  time ;  but,  being  broad-minded  and  humane, 
he  suffers  me,  I  will  not  say  gladly.  Recently,  he  has 
whistled  a  different  tune.  You  see  the  boys  come,  the 
men,  too — well,  I  keep  them  quiet  for  an  hour,  perhaps 
longer.  Of  my  methods  he  is  uniformly  scornful.  If 
I  chose  to  throw  shadow-pictures  on  a  sheet,  it  would 
be  all  the  same  to  him.  In  fact,  he  would  probably 
regard  our  chalk  characters  on  the  blackboard,  when 
we  are  in  the  midst  of  our  business,  as  a  fair  equivalent 
for  the  trail  of  hopping  rabbits  on  a  magic-lantern  slide. 
But  progress  is  to  be  seen — slight,  irregular,  perhaps, 
but  real.    I  cannot  be  deceived  in  that." 

"  But  tell  me,"  urged  Ambry,  interested  in  spite  of 
himself,  "  what  is  it  leading  to  ?  Is  it  anything  more 
than  an  experiment  to  prove  that  the  most  unlikely 
material,  no  matter  how  degenerate,  will  vibrate  to 
your  master  hand  ? — oh,  you  must  know  you  have  that ! 
Or  is  there  something  else  behind  it?  What  do  the 
poor  devils  themselves  get  out  of  it  ?  " 

"  A  drug,  Nunholme,  a  drug — something  to  take  the 
place  of  food  and  drink  and  heat  and  life."  Johnstone- 
Ford  spoke  warmly,  rapidly,  quite  unlike  his  usual 
manner. 


THE  IMMORTAL  GYMNASTS  167 

Ambry  was  struck  unpleasantly.  Poor  old  chap, 
that  was  probably  what  the  doctor  meant.  He  was 
getting  a  bit  queer,  and  they  had  shut  down  on  work. 
But  here  he  was,  hard  on  this  eccentric  trail,  his  idee 
fixe,  teaching  Greek  to  the  slums.     O  Lord! 

Ford  rose  to  his  feet.  "  My  dear  Nunholme,  I  have 
an  appointment  at  eleven,  and  I  dare  say  you  have  also. 
Give  me  five  minutes  more.  You  naturally  wonder  why 
I  have  dropped  in  on  you  to-day,  out  of  the  clouds.  I 
saw  in  the  papers  that  Mr.  Poynter  had  gone  abroad 
to  rest.  I  have  followed  you  sufficiently  to  know  that 
you  are  his  secretary.  I  thought  it  more  than  possible 
that  you  would  be  in  London,  free  from  your  duties 
for  the  time  being.  It  may  seem  extraordinary  to  you 
that  I  should  associate  you  in  my  thoughts  with  my 
present  work,  yet  such  is  the  case.  Now  that  my 
Greek  classes  are  taking  so  well,  my  secretarial  duties 
suffer.  Do  you  catch  my  drift?  Will  you  come  over 
and  help  us?  Will  you  disappear  for  a  few  weeks  into 
a  new  world?  Will  you  come  out  of  the  darkness  of 
Society,  as  it  is  understood  in  Wilton  Place,  to  emerge 
into  the  light  as  it  is  made  manifest  in  Ridges  Street, 
by  the  curious  reversed1  process  of  plunging?  " 

As  he  spoke,  Ambry's  mind  went  racing.  How  was 
it  that  Ford  had  seemed  to  divine  that  he  would  like 
nothing  better,  at  this  harassed  moment,  than  to  sub- 
merge himself  and  his  identity,  that  personality  so 
strongly  coveted  by  Estelle,  in  some  far  haunt,  lost 
alike  to  fair,  impassioned  friends  and  to  indiscreet,  dun- 
ning foes?  By  Jove!  it  was  worth  trying.  He  could 
light  out,  leaving  word  with  Dodgson  that  he  had 
quitted  London  for  a  fortnight.     Much  could  happen 


168  THE  IMMORTAL  GYMNASTS 

in  that  time.  Things  would  have  a  chance  to  cool. 
Privately,  he  would  instruct  Dodgson  that  letters  left 

were    to    be   forwarded   to A.    Holmes,    so-and-so, 

Ridges  Street.  He  saw  it  all  work  out  beautifully  be- 
fore his  inner  eye.  Then  he  brought  his  gaze  back  to 
Johnstone-Ford  who  was  awaiting  his  answer. 

"  By  what  amazing  chance,"  asked  he,  "  did  you 
know  that  I  would  snap  at  just  such  an  offer  as  you 
make  me?  " 

"  You  will  snap,  then  ?  "  cried  Ford.  "  You  will 
come  ?  " 

"  Like  a  shot.  They  hound  me,  they  hunt  me — bills 
and — other  things.  My  mother  hasn't  recovered  from 
the  last  cheque  she  wrote  me,  and  although  my  step- 
father has  acted  like  a  trump,  you  can't  bleed  him  too 
often,  you  know.  To  disappear  blamelessly  for  a 
couple  of  weeks  would  be  my  salvation.  I'll  come  to- 
morrow, or  my  courage  may  ooze  out.  Where  is 
Ridges  Street?" 

"  In  the  neighbourhood  of  Pimlico.  My  sister  keeps 
a  tiny  flat  for  me.  You  will  be  our  guest.  My  dear  boy, 
it  is  too  late  for  another  word."  Here  Ford  looked 
about  nervously  for  his  hat.  "  Expect  a  letter  from  me 
to-morrow  morning  with  directions  and  explanations. 
The  life  will  seem  very  odd  to  you  at  first — old  clothes, 
you  know,  no  servant,  and  no  title." 

"  Of  course,"  said  Ambry.  "  I  shall  be  A.  Holmes. 
I've  thought  it  all  out." 

"  O  youth !  You  ride  ever  on  the  wine-dark  wave. 
To-morrow,  then.  Await  my  letter  by  the  first 
post." 

In   high   good   humour,   Johnstone-Ford   shook   his 


THE  IMMORTAL  GYMNASTS  169 

young  recruit's  hand,  and  was  piloted  into  a  taxi  by  the 
ever-ready,  whistle-bearing  Dodgson. 

Left  to  himself,  Ambry  envisaged  the  situation  with 
a  kindling  eye.  There,  on  the  horizon  brink,  were  the 
tall,  waving  tops  of  the  palms;  under  their  enticing 
shade  gurgled  a  cool  trickle  of  clear  water ;  the  caravans 
were  coming  in  with  the  evening — no  mirage,  this — 
safety  and  seclusion  beckoned  to  him  in  this  beast- 
haunted  London  desert,  from  the  green  oasis  of  Ridges 
Street.  Oh,  it  would  be  rum.  He'd  drop  out;  he'd 
pass;  he'd  lie  close,  just  around  the  corner,  and  be 
safer  than  if  he  went  to  India.  He  must  send  a  line  to 
his  mother,  telling  her  that  he  had  suddenly  joined  his 
old  tutor  for  a — walking-tour;  yes,  that  would  do,  and 
he  would  see  her  again  in  a  few  weeks.  He  would  keep 
Dodgson  posted  as  to  where  a  telegram  could  reach 
him;  but  she  was  not  to  write,  not  to  worry,  and  he 
had  enough  money.  That  would  touch  her.  Now  he 
must  fly  to  his  purgatory  in  front  of  Harrod's.  What 
was  he  doing  to-night?  He  swept  over  a  heap  of 
cards.  Dinner  at  Lady  Susan's;  must  pick  up  Lady 
Cassock  and  Estelle,  and  go  on  with  them;  then  they 
would  drag  him  to  some  dance  or  other,  he  supposed. 
They  had  him ;  he  couldn't  escape — yet.  He'd  take  all 
he  could  get  to-night;  come  home,  write  his  letters, 
pitch  together  his  oldest  togs,  and,  with  the  morn- 
ing breeze,  hoist  sail  for  Ridges  Street.  It  had  an 
engaging  sound. 

He  left  the  taxi  at  the  corner  below  Harrod's  in 
order  to  escape  the  attentions  of  the  uniformed  door- 
opener  in  front  of  the  shop,  and  found  himself,  to  his 
extreme   annoyance,   caught   in   a   feminine   flood   that 


170  THE  IMMORTAL  GYMNASTS 

surged,  and  swept,  and  gurgled  into  the  full  tide  of  a 
summer  sale.  What  a  cursed  place  to  ask  anyone  to 
meet  you!  He  ground  his  teeth.  How  the  devil  could 
Estelle  expect  him  to  find  her  in  this  unseemly  rout? 
In  reality,  he  was  too  jostled  and  vexed  to  care  whether 
he  saw  the  young  lady  or  not.  He'd  give  her  five  more 
minutes.  As  a  matter  of  fact,  she  had  him  in  her  eye 
before  the  elapse  of  two  of  them.  He  had  forgotten 
that  at  this  particular  hour  and  spot  he  would  be  a 
much  more  noticeable  object  than  any  girl,  however 
striking.  Estelle  came  up  and  touched  his  arm  with 
the  crook  of  her  tall-handled  parasol. 

"  Shall  we  get  out  of  this  ?  "  she  asked  coolly. 

"  Rather,"  he  answered,  barely  looking  at  her. 

She  steered  him  skilfully  through  the  mob  of  her 
sister-souls,  actually  pausing  for  a  moment  to  ask  him 
if  some  damnable  turban  wasn't  a  duck  of  a  hat — the 
aplomb  of  the  girl! — till  they  found  themselves  around 
a  corner,  out  of  the  swarm,  committed  to  a  long,  un- 
lovely thoroughfare,  whose  principal  commerce  seemed 
to  centre  in  bicycle  repair-shops,  in  petrol  and  tyre 
vendors. 

"  I'm  most  awfully  sorry  I  asked  you  to  meet  me 
there,"  began  Estelle,  as  she  saw  that  he  had  no  in- 
tention of  looking  at  her,  "  but  I  was  at  my  wits'  end, 
mother  was  fussing,  and  I  quite  forgot  about  those 
beastly  sales.     Sorry,  Ambry." 

She  really  was  fascinating,  incredibly  so,  when  she 
chose  to  soften  a  bit  and  smooth  a  fellow  down.  She 
had  on  a  ripping  gown,  white  and  blue,  all  stuck  over 
with  little  glass  buttons,  and  the  big.  hat  with  wheat 
absurdly  standing  up  in  it.     Oh,  well 


THE  IMMORTAL  GYMNASTS  171 

"  I  don't  mind  much,  now,"  he  admitted  graciously. 
"  You  look  awfully  well  this  morning.  How  on  earth 
do  you  do  it  ?    You  couldn't  have  had  five  hours'  sleep." 

"  Never  mind  that.  I'm  used  to  it.  Let  us  talk," 
but  she  seemed  to  experience  a  slight  difficulty  in  be- 
ginning, and  he  made  no  attempt  to  help  her.  They 
moved  on  slowly.  A  most  noticeable,  but  not  an  har- 
monious pair — he,  busy  with  his  plans  for  escape,  she, 
weaving  strands  to  bind  him. 

"  Do  you  realize  that  you  are  as  dumb  as  a  fish  some- 
times ?  "  She  plunged  headlong.  "  What  are  you  go- 
ing to  do  from  the  end  of  the  month?  Mother  says 
we  must  stay  in  town  till  the  28th.  If  you  showed  a 
spark  of  interest,  we  might  arrange  to  see  something 
of  each  other.  Mother  hasn't  taken  a  place  this  year, 
because  she  says  we  are  rather  hard  up — that  I  cost 
too  much.  That  is  simply  to  grumble,  because  I  don't 
begin  to  cost  as  much  as  she  does.  So  I  suppose  that 
means  we'll  bob  around  from  one  visit  to  another.  You 
see,  something  could  be  managed  in  that  way.  Do  you 
know,  sometimes  I  think  you  don't  care,  Ambry,  and 
then,  as  you  did  last  night,  you  make  it  all  come  real 
again."  For  Estelle  to  admit  as  much  as  this  was 
rather  staggering.  Ambry  had  the  grace  to  feel 
ashamed.     He  played  for  time. 

"  Tt's  a  hideous  bore,  you  know,  but  my  affairs  are 
horribly  mixed  up.  I  simply  can't  look  ahead  a  week. 
Mother  and  Goodrich-Dow  have  taken  a  shooting,  so  I 
suppose  I'll  put  in  some  of  the  time  with  them.  I  don't 
know.  I  may  stay  on  in  town,  getting  in  a  bit  of 
work.  I've  let  everything  slide  frightfully.  You've 
knocked  me  in  the  head,  so  that  half  the  time  I  don't 


172  THE  IMMORTAL  GYMNASTS 

know  what  I'm  about.  You  are  becoming  rather  too 
much  for  me,  you  know,  Estelle.  You  are  too  expen- 
sive a  luxury  for  a  poor  devil  like  me.  How  can  I  live 
up  to  you  ?  " 

"  You've  never  cared  to  try,  Ambry,"  she  replied 
quietly.  He  felt  cold;  she  was  gaining  on  him  and  he 
knew  it.    Oh,  he  was  ripe  for  Ridges  Street ! 

"  I  don't  quite  know  what  you  mean,"  he  remarked, 
thinking  that  subterfuge  safe.  "  Even  if  I  am  mad 
about  you,  there's  nothing  to  be  gained  by  losing  our 
heads.  Your  mother  is  rather  ferocious,  as  it  is.  She 
was  barely  civil  to  me  last  night — said  I  made  you 
conspicuous.  Suppose  I  did?  If  you  go  to  a  ball  you 
must  dance  with  someone,  mustn't  you  ?  Let  us  lie  low 
for  a  bit.  Nothing  can  come  of  rushing  things.  When 
a  fellow  hasn't  any  money,  he's  most  awfully  tied  by 
the  leg.    You  can  see  that,  can't  you,  Estelle?  " 

He  felt  like  a  worm,  as  he  let  her  have  it,  but  you 
had  to  do  something  to  keep  your  head  and  hers  above 
water,  if  she  were  too  far  gone  to  help  herself. 

They  had  moved  out  of  the  bicycle  zone  and  were 
now  breathing  the  more  rarefied  air  of  the  dealers 
in  antiquities  whose  windows,  multifariously  stuffed, 
winked  at  you  with  the  twinkle  of  their  glass  and  their 
brasses,  with  the  polish  of  their  mahogany,  with  the 
shining  of  a  hundred  porcelain  trifles.  The  morning 
sun  lay  in  white  patches  on  the  awnings  that  kept  the 
pavement  cool  and  shaded  before  their  inviting  doors. 
Ambry's  wandering  eye  was  caught  by  an  airy  little 
dancing  figure  in  biscuit  de  Sevres,  some  eighteenth- 
century  variation  of  Columbine,  poised  on  infinitesimal 
toes,  when  Estelle's  voice  reawakened  him  to  the  con- 


THE  IMMORTAL  GYMNASTS  173 

sciousness  of  the  hot,  noisy,  boring  walk  they  were 
having,  arousing  once  more  his  uneasy  distaste  for  the 
role  she  was  forcing  him  to  play.  So  he  put  it  to  him- 
self. 

"  You  needn't  rub  it  in,  you  know,"  she  was  remark- 
ing. "  I'm  not  going  to  run  off  with  you  to  the  first 
Registry  Office.  Be  a  little  decent,  can't  you,  Ambry? 
You  know  things  like  that — hurt."  She  put  up  her 
parasol  suddenly,  and  he  had  a  suspicion  that  tears 
might  not  be  far  from  those  brilliant  eyes.  What  a 
dangling  fool  he  had  been  to  get  into  this  mess !  What 
in  heaven's  name  did  she  expect  him  to  do?  When  he 
tried  to  be  sensible,  he  only  made  matters  worse,  appar- 
ently. Well,  then,  he'd  make  her  as  conspicuous  as  need 
be,  if  that  was  what  she  wanted.  There'd  be  only  one 
day  more  of  it,  at  all  events. 

"  Darling,  put  down  that  confounded  thing,  I  can't 
see  you.  Estelle,  what  are  we  walking  in  this  filthy 
street  for?    Come  in  a  taxi  and  be  comfortable." 

He  signalled  an  empty  one  and  they  got  in. 

"  I  ought  not  to  do  this,  I  suppose,"  she  said,  as  he 
gave  the  vague  direction,  "  Oh,  anywhere  in  Bays- 
water." 

"Oh,  what's  the  odds?"  he  answered.  "When  I 
try  to  be  prudent,  you  think  I  don't  care,  so  let  us  be 
rash." 

"  So  that  is  how  you  feel,  is  it  ? "  she  demanded. 
No  hint  of  tears  now  in  the  dark,  angry  eyes  bent  upon 
him,  the  flush  of  her  disappointment  creeping  up  the 
smooth  cheek.  "  Whatever  you  do  and  say  is  calcu- 
lated, weighed,  and  pondered.  When  you  commence 
to  talk  of  prudence!     Oh,  you  make  me  actually  sick. 


174  THE  IMMORTAL  GYMNASTS 

Because  I've  been  frank  enough  to  show  you  that  you 
mean  something  to  me,  you  begin  to  be  frightened. 
One  isn't  prudent  when  one  really  cares.  A  month  ago 
you  pitched  yourself  at  me  headlong.  You  weren't 
very  circumspect  then,  nor  did  you  exercise  yourself 
unduly  that  I  should  be.     Oh,  rather  not ! " 

To  her  own  ear,  her  voice  was  on  the  verge  of 
trembling.  She  waited  a  moment.  Ambry,  a  little 
pale,  was  looking  at  his  hands  crossed  on  the  top  of 
his  stick.  The  taxi,  a  poor  old  thing,  jolted  and 
richoted  upon  its  uncertain  course  out  Bayswater 
way.  When  she  was  sure  of  herself,  Estelle  requested 
that  they  stop.  This  was  done  to  Ambry's  secret 
relief. 

"  Get  out,  please,"  said  the  girl,  "  and  tell  him  to 
take  me  home." 

"  I'm  most  awfully  sorry,  dear —  "  began  a  rather 
conscience-stricken  youth — you  never  knew  what  a  girl 
was  going  to  do  next. 

"  Oh,  don't  mind  me,"  retorted  Estelle.  "  I  dare  say 
I'll  be  fool  enough  to  telephone  you  this  afternoon. 
Our  talk  this  morning  has  been  so  pleasant  I  shall  be 
longing  for  more."  She  leaned  forward  in  the  cab  and 
looked  at  him  squarely.  What  did  she  expect?  Some- 
thing she  evidently  did  not  find. 

"  Lady  Susan's  to-night,"  he  said,  with  a  weak  at- 
tempt at  propitiation  now  that  he  was  rid  of  her  for 
the  moment.  "  You  remember  that  I  am  to  pick  up  you 
and  your  mother?  " 

"  Did  you  suppose  that  I  had  forgotten?  "  she  asked 
with  simple  scorn,  rapping  on  the  glass  with  her  parasol 
as  a  signal  for  the  man  to  go  on. 


THE  IMMORTAL  GYMNASTS  175 

The  deserted  Ambry,  upon  whom  no  further  glance 
was  bestowed,  regarded  for  as  long  as  it  was  visible 
the  upstanding  wheat  that  garnished  Estelle's  hat,  bob- 
bing, not  ungracefully,  over  the  lowered  hood  of  the 
cab. 


CHAPTER  TWELVE 

AS  our  young  man  walked  slowly  back  to  Wilton 
Place  his  thoughts  were  busy  with  the  morrow. 
h  Lord,  what  a  relief  it  would  be  to  shelve  all 
these  interminable,  half-acid,  half-tearful  discussions 
that  could  lead  nowhere  1  He  was  immensely  fond  of 
Estelle.  If  he  could  afford  it,  he  almost  thought  he 
would  like  to  marry  her.  She  had  plenty  of  spirit  and 
would  keep  a  fellow  going.  She  was  handsome,  too, 
the  type  that  wouldn't  go  off  in  a  few  years.  She  was 
a  thorough  sport,  if  she  would  only  keep  her  head. 
He  supposed  it  was  flattering,  but  it  was  a  confounded 
bore  at  the  same  time  for  a  girl  not  to  be  willing  to 
play  the  game.  Her  mother  knew  quite  well,  and  made 
it  deuced  plain,  that  he  was  not  a  marriageable  quan- 
tity. He  had  the  title,  such  as  it  was,  and  Appleton, 
but  no  money  to  keep  it  up.  His  mother  gave  him  what 
she  considered,  poor  innocent  woman,  a  very  generous 
allowance,  but  if  he  couldn't  scrape  along  on  it,  even 
helped  out  of  tight  corners  by  his  step-father's  occa- 
sional cheques,  how  could  he  be  conceived  as  the  possible 
husband  of  an  exceedingly  expensive  Estelle?  Did 
every  girl  he  looked  at  think  he  wanted  to  marry  her? 
he  asked  himself  viciously,  being  very  well  aware, 
nevertheless,  that  he  had  done  much  more  than  merely 
look  at  Estelle.  Oh,  he  didn't  flatter  himself  she 
wouldn't  get  over  it.  When  he  crawled  out  of  Ridges 
Street  at  the  end  of  the  summer,  she  would  probably 

176 


THE  IMMORTAL  GYMNASTS  177 

have  difficulty  in  bringing  him  to  mind.  He  said  to 
himself  that  he  hoped  so,  not  meaning  it,  of  course, 
and  then,  with  a  mental  shake,  let  the  whole  affair  glide 
blissfully  into  his  subconscious  depths,  without  so  much 
as  a  splash. 

His  solitary  ramble  was  beginning  to  amuse  him. 
The  streets  were  taking  on  their  proper  aspect  near 
the  park.  If  they  were  crowded,  it  was  with  his  own 
kind — a  nod  here,  a  smile  there,  to  some  particular 
crony.  To  finish  squeezing  down  the  lid  on  the  morn- 
ing's ruffling  episode,  to  end  it  with  a  proper  twirl,  he 
dropped  into  his  own  particular  flower-shop  to  send  a 
little  woven  basket  of  orange  roses  to  Belgrave  Square. 
He  had  forgotten  what  she  had  told  him  she  was  going 
to  wear  to-night,  but,  at  least,  the  action  would  show 
that  he  bore  no  malice.  "  H e  to  bear  malice — !  "  the 
angry  girl  might  justly  exclaim,  but  of  course  he 
never  gave  her  the  chance. 

He  was  late  dressing  for  dinner  because  he  had  spent 
so  much  time  over  his  letter  to  his  mother,  endeavoring 
to  give  a  plausible  ring  to  what  he  tardily  perceived 
would  seem  uncommonly  odd,  i.e.,  his  departure  on  an 
innocent  walking-tour  before  the  end  of  the  season,  he, 
of  all  people,  who  most  detested  the  simple  life,  with 
a  knapsack,  the  rather  sickly  raptures  of  the  scholar- 
gypsy.  Well,  she'd  have  to  swallow  it.  He  could  think 
of  nothing  better  on  the  spur  of  the  moment.  Dodgson 
had  packed  a  shooting-kit  with  some  flannels  and  odds 
and  ends,  a  melancholy  feeling  invading  his  profes- 
sional impassivity  at  the  thought  of  the  physical  dis- 
comforts his  young  gentleman  would  lay  himself  open 
to,  away  from  his   capable  hands.     They  called  such 


178  THE  IMMORTAL  GYMNASTS 

flittings  "  larks,"  but  Dodgson  knew  that  he  would 
never  had  regarded  them  in  that  light  had  fate  made 
him  a  young  gentleman. 

Ambry,  in  the  final  throes  of  his  apparelling,  rang 
the  bell  furiously,  conjuring  Dodgson  to  whistle  up  a 
taxi,  a  hansom,  anything  on  wheels.  He  was  vilely 
late,  and  Lady  Cassock  became  a  good  imitation  of  an 
uncaged  lioness  if  anyone  dared  to  keep  her  waiting. 
Racing  downstairs,  pulling  open  the  door  to  let  out  a 
gush  of  artificial  light  from  the  hall  into  the  pure, 
purple  twilight  of  the  summer  evening,  Ambry  found 
a  discomforted  and  nervous  Dodgson,  in  response  to 
whose  piercingly  persuasive  pipings  no  London  gondola 
deigned  to  swim  over  the  asphalt  waves. 

"  Never  mind ;  I'll  pick  one  up,"  cried  Ambry,  brush- 
ing past  him,  his  floating,  winglike  cape  hanging  from 
his  famous  shoulders.  Hurried  as  he  was,  he  instinc- 
tively slackened  his  pace  as  one  of  the  prettiest  women 
he  had  ever  seen  drew  near,  under  the  gas-lamp,  com- 
ing from  the  opposite  direction.  She  was  so  fresh,  so 
quaint,  in  a  rather  odd  style  of  dress,  with  a  trans- 
parent little  black  blur  of  a  hat  on  her  wonderful  curls, 
her  slim  arms  in  soft  yellow  gloves,  her  big  bright  eyes. 
In  an  instant  he  received  an  unusual  impression  of 
suppleness,  of  grace,  of  activity.  How  well  she  placed 
her  little  feet!  She  must  be  a  foreigner — a  Russian, 
perhaps.  He  supposed  he'd  been  staring  rather  hard, 
for  she  shrank  the  least  bit  in  the  world,  and  then 
he  saw  that  she  was  not  alone.  Beside  her  was  a  tall, 
thin,  equally  foreign-looking  chap  with  a  corkingly 
good  figure. 

At  this  moment  a  taxi  spun  into  view  around  the 


THE  IMMORTAL  GYMNASTS  179 

corner.  Ambry  threw  himself  into  it,  the  name  "  Bel- 
grave  Square  "  on  his  lips  effectually  banishing  the 
little  pretty  woman  from  his  mind  to  admit  the  per- 
suasive image  of  Estelle,  dark,  warm,  glowing,  as  he 
knew  she  would  be,  waiting  for  him. 

Estelle  met  him  in  the  drawing-room  alone,  her 
mother  being  delayed  by  the  intricacies  of  a  new  gown 
that  hooked  up  in  a  simply  impossible  way,  and  by  the 
clumsy  fingers  of  a  scratch  maid,  picked  up,  heaven 
knows  where,  to  replace  the  tiresome  but  invaluable 
Marcelle,  flat  on  her  foolish  French  back  with  a 
migraine. 

"  Thank  the  Lord!  "  breathed  Ambry  devoutly.  "  I 
was  preparing  to  be  torn  limb  from  limb  by  your  enraged 
parent  for  daring  to  keep  her  waiting  two  minutes.  I 
had  to  rush  like  the  devil.  That's  a  stunning  frock  you 
have  on,  my  child,"  critically  examining  the  skimpy 
apricot  satin  affair,  daringly  twisted  and  looped 
around  the  girl's  tall  young  shape.  She  pointed  a  slim 
white  finger,  without  saying  a  word,  where  one  of  the 
copper-coloured  roses  lay  caught  in  her  breast.  She 
bore  no  malice  evidently.  So  he  was  forgiven,  and  their 
night,  his  last  one,  was  all  before  them. 

Lady  Cassock's  penetrating  soprano,  sending  a 
shower  of  vague  directions  in  advance  of  her  down  the 
staircase,  caused  them  to  flock  dutifully  into  the  hall. 

"  You  here,  Sir  Ambry,"  she  remarked,  with  the  acid 
insouciance  that  always  put  his  back  up — as  if  she 
hadn't  known  it  all  along ! 

He  muttered  something  non-committal,  as  he  helped 
them  into  the  taxi.  Lady  Cassock  had  disposed  of  her 
motor  at  the  beginning  of  the  season,  just  when  she 


180  THE  IMMORTAL  GYMNASTS 

needed  it  most,  for  obscure  reasons  best  known  to  her- 
self. Doubtless  Anie  and  Estelle's  horses,  half  the 
time  eating  their  heads  off,  had  something  to  do  with 
it.  Her  expenses  were  frightful,  but  the  girls  must 
show  decently  in  the  Row. 

Much  harassed,  the  good  lady,  breathing  so  notice- 
ably that  it  was  quite  unbecoming — that  insufferable 
fool  of  a  girl  must  have  jerked  her  in  tighter  than  was 
absolutely  necessary  to  make  her  bodice  meet — busied 
herself,  in  the  half-light,  with  an  absurd  little  morocco 
notebook,  not  taking  the  time  to  put  on  her  long,  dan- 
gling gloves. 

No  one  said  anything.  Estelle  in  her  corner  kept 
her  eyes,  slightly  beringed  and  tired,  fixed  idly,  unsee- 
ingly,  upon  the  golden  twilight  streets.  Ambry,  seated 
opposite  the  two  women,  felt  suddenly  invaded  by  a 
kind  of  gene.  His  flicker  of  interest,  aroused  by  the 
sight  of  Estelle's  evening  beauty,  was  dying  out.  He 
would  have  liked  to  pull  open  the  door  and  vanish 
silently — dinnerless,  danceless — into  the  easy  hospi- 
tality of  less  gilded  quarters  of  the  town. 

Looking  up  from  her  confounded  little  book,  Lady 
Cassock  said,  apparently  to  the  world  at  large,  cer- 
tainly not  to  either  of  her  companions : 

"  The  woman  must  be  quite  mad  to  fancy  she  can 
invite  me  to  meet  such  a  rabble,  even  for  a  week-end — 
with  a  girl  on  my  hands,  too."  The  rigid  hair  of  her 
elaborate  coiffure  appeared  to  rear  tingling  little  elec- 
tric heads  like  a  Medusa's. 

They  were  nearing  their  destination,  indicated  by 
red  carpets  and  footmen.  In  fact,  they  were  caught 
in  a  mass  of  petrol-breathing,  shining-eyed  monsters, 


THE  IMMORTAL  GYMNASTS  181 

several  yards  from  their  hostess'  door.  Lady  Cassock's 
singularly  scanty  supply  of  patience  ran  suddenly  dry. 

"  Tell  him  to  stop  here,"  she  commanded  Ambry. 
"  We  can  save  time  by  walking  a  few  steps.  I  abso- 
lutely must  have  two  words  with  Lady  Susan  before 
we  are  sent  in."  The  taxi  stopped  with  a  jerk.  Lady 
Cassock  hurried  across  the  pavement,  huddling  her 
cloak,  all  violet  and  silver,  across  her  shoulders.  Ambry 
sulkily  followed.  Really  that  woman  permitted  herself 
to  be  an  uncommonly  uncomfortable  companion. 

"  Your  mother,  you  know — "  he  commenced  to 
grumble  in  Estelle's  ear. 

She  looked  at  him  in  a  way  that  pulled  him  up. 
•'  What  is  that  to  you  ?  It  gives  us  a  moment  to  our- 
selves." This  was  obvious  enough.  She  made  the 
most  of  it  by  taking  his  arm,  tottering  on  those  idiotic 
pin-point  heels.  With  the  skirts  and  slippers  women 
were  wearing  they  were  as  helpless  as  Chinese,  and 
when  they  were  dancing  you  practically  had  to  carry 
them. 

So  they  made  their  way  into  Lady  Susan's  abode, 
Ambry  praying  that  she'd  give  them  decent  wine.  He 
needed  something  to  go  on  with.  Estelle  certainly  got 
on  a  fellow's  nerves.  .    .    . 

Letting  himself  into  his  rooms,  long  after  dawn, 
when  it  was  really  quite  respectably  sunny,  Ambry  took 
a  cold  plunge  to  clear  his  head.  This  treatment,  while 
steadying,  was  only  partially  successful,  for  when  the 
inner  pulses  of  youth  are  running  hot  and  free,  excited 
by  movement,  by  lights,  by  warmth,  by  the  contagion 
of  the  jaded  joyousness  of  a  ballroom  at  the  end  of  a 
strenuous  season,  it  takes  more  than  a  cold  douche  to 


182  THE  IMMORTAL  GYMNASTS 

quiet  that  impetuous  throb.  These  particular  pulses, 
irritated  by  the  touch,  by  the  feeling,  by  the  intense 
consciousness  of  Estelle  with  which  she  had  known  how 
to  surround  him  the  entire  night,  were  giving  our 
young  man  something  to  think  of.  If  he  could  still 
feel  this  way,  if  she  still  had  the  power  to  carry  him 
with  her,  almost  off  his  feet,  mightn't  there  be  really 
something  in  it?  He  sat  with  his  hot  head  in  his  hands 
for  an  appreciable  time,  his  thoughts  circling  ever 
closer  and  closer  around  that  threatening  Dark  Tower, 
built  of  debts,  mortised  with  bills,  manned  by  duns, 
that  raked  the  entrance  to  whatever  dim,  delectable 
green  meadows  of  solvency  might  lie  beyond  its  ugly 
bulk.  He  ceased  to  ponder,  not  being  of  the  stuff  that 
slings  slug-horn  to  lip,  defiantly  leading  a  forlorn  hope. 
Not  he  I  Hurt  as  it  might,  he  clung  to  Johnstone-Ford 
as  to  a  plank  of  salvation.  One  more  cigarette  and 
then  he'd  turn  in.  The  expected  letter  would  doubtless 
contain  all  possible  directions  and  exhortations,  that 
is,  if  he  knew  his  ancient  tutor. 

Dodgson  eventually  brought  it  to  him  with  the  cus- 
tomary cup  of  weak  tea  that  was  supposed  to  serve  as 
an  eye-opener.  Ambry,  flat  on  his  back,  like  a  tired 
navvy,  unfolded'  benumbed  arms.  Yes,  it  was  all  there. 
If  he  could  arrange  to  lunch  with  them  at  their  rooms, 
so  much  the  better.  There  was  enough  to  begin  on 
at  once  in  the  way  of  neglected  secretarial  work.  Miss 
Johnstone-Ford  was  impatient  to  make  his  acquaint- 
ance. She  was  filled  with  hospitable  activities  and 
housewifely  anxieties  on  his  account.  Their  life  was 
simplicity  itself,  but  they  hoped  to  make  him  comfort- 
able.    Had  he  told  Ambry  that  his  sister  was  deep  in 


THE  IMMORTAL  GYMNASTS  183 

a  philanthropic  enterprise,  a  scheme  to  feed  poor  women 
and  their  babies  with  at  least  one  nourishing  meal  a 
day?  Ambry  made  a  face.  He  was  confident,  with 
the  crude  judgment  of  youth,  of  such  a  golden  youth, 
that  he  could  place  the  good  lady  at  once.  He  saw 
her,  photographed  by  a  secret,  instantaneous  process, 
in  a  certain  gallery  open  only  to  his  inner  eye.  It  was 
a  simple  image,  good  and  gentle,  and  he  need  fear  no 
sentimental  complications.  Thank  heavens!  for  some 
weeks  he'd  be  free  as  he'd  never  really  been  in  his 
life  before.  He  would  be  distinctly  on  his  own  bat, 
with  no  aroma  of  name  or  family  to  hang  about  him. 
The  thought  of  A.  Holmes  caught  and  fixed  him.  Well, 
the  sooner  the  better.  By  the  time  he  was  dressed  it 
would  be  noon.     He  dragged  himself  up. 

A  copper-coloured  rose,  pinched  at  the  edges, 
crumpled  as  if  it  were  made  of  paper,  had  been  placed 
in  a  tiny  glass  of  water  on  the  dressing-table.  He 
must  have  dropped  it  out  of  his  things  last  night,  and 
Dodgson,  the  invaluable,  the  discreet,  the  sentimental, 
had  cherished  it  for  him.  Ambry  looked  at  the  pretty, 
fragile,  faded  trophy,  and  forbore  to  smile.  Neverthe- 
less, he  left  it  to  blacken  in  the  glass  if  it  saw  fit,  as, 
his  toilet  completed,  with  a  last  look  around,  such  as 
might  have  been  thrown  by  the  disinherited  hero,  pre- 
paring to  leave  his  gilded  halls  for  the  obscurity  of  a 
South-West  slum,  Ambry  closed  the  door  on  his  old 
personality  for  so  long  as  it  should  please  a  certain 
A.  Holmes  to  keep  it  dark. 

At  the  last  moment,  although  he  had  not  intended 
to,  he  left  a  telegram  with  Dodgson  to  be  sent  off  at 
once,   informing  Estelle  that  he  had  been  forced  to 


184  THE  IMMORTAL  GYMNASTS 

leave  town,  and  didn't  quite  know  when  he  would  be 
back.  After  last  night,  this  was  almost  worse  than 
sending  no  word  at  all.  She'd  never  forgive  him,  but 
wasn't  that  what  he  wanted?  Being  less  sure  of  this 
than  he  cared  to  admit,  he  threw  himself  and  his  kit 
into  a  cab  in  a  tumult  of  mind  that  only  Ridges  Street 
could  subdue. 


CHAPTER  THIRTEEN 

RIDGES  STREET,  when  you  found  it,  was  seen 
to  be  a  stumpy  thoroughfare  lying  in  the  outer 
purlieus  of  desolate  Pimlico.  Here  were  no 
trees,  no  awnings,  no  flower-boxes.  Nothing  to  temper 
a  roaring  sun  that  beat  down  on  broken  pavements,  on 
blistered,  cracked,  soot-stained  facades,  on  open  buckets 
of  refuse,  on  the  dirt,  the  confusion,  the  staggering 
decay  of  a  summer  slum. 

A  hundred  and  fifty  odd  years  ago  this  quarter  of 
the  town  was  beginning  to  be  occupied  by  prosperous 
tradesmen  who  could  afford  to  themselves  a  well-built 
house  in  a  genteel  street.  Trees  flourished  here  then, 
in  the  trim  gardens  that  boasted  grass  alleys  and  goose- 
berry bushes.  You  will  still  find  the  parlours  and  some 
of  the  upper  chambers  of  these  houses  to  be  solidly 
panelled,  with  deep-set  windows  and  comfortable  cup- 
boards; the  staircases  take  a  proper  curve;  you  run 
your  hand  along  a  mahogany  rail;  your  feet  follow 
the  well-placed  flight  of  steps,  worn  by  who  knows  what 
innumerable  contacts?  Elaborate  fanlights  over  the 
heavy  doors  that  sprawl  open  now  from  dawn  to  dawn 
still  let  in  an  obscure  streak  of  day  through  a  dreary 
deposit  of  soot  and  cobwebs.  Wizened,  gnomelike  chil- 
dren seem  to  burst  out  from  every  cranny,  ready  to 
swarm  up  a  stranger's  leg  on  a  voyage  of  discovery; 
vague  fumes  of  hot  suds  (why  suds,  when  no  person  and 
no  thing  has  even  the  deceitful  appearance  of  cleanli- 

185 


186  THE  IMMORTAL  GYMNASTS 

ness?),  and  of  miserable,  greasy  cookery  hang  almost 
palpably  in  the  well  of  the  staircase;  frowsy,  battered 
heads  of  incredibly  ugly  women,  for  true  poverty  is 
the  most  active  of  disfiguring  agents,  dart  out  of  the 
open  doors,  like  ragged  turnkeys,  at  the  least  unwonted 
sound;  a  stupefying  air  of  hopelessness,  of  incapacity, 
of  hard  brutality,  of  conscious  degradation  broods  over 
such  neighbourhoods  as  this,  making  it  necessary  for 
the  unaccustomed  intruder  of  aesthetic  instincts  to  call 
upon  all  his  resources  of  decent  feeling  to  keep  him 
from  turning  tail  at  the  first  onslaught  of  this  inferno 
upon  his  highly-cultivated  sense  organs. 

Our  exquisite  Ambry  cast  a  haggard  eye  from  house 
to  house,  wildly  seeking  the  number  that  Johnstone- 
Ford  had  given  him.  There  it  was  at  last,  117,  but, 
heaven  be  praised !  not  quite  like  its  drunken  neighbours. 
For  117  was  a  nosegay  in  a  dust-heap,  thanks  to  fresh 
paint,  green  blinds,  well-scrubbed  steps,  a  neat  brass 
knocker,  a  shining,  carefully-lettered  doctor's  bell,  and 
a  row  of  bright,  pink  geraniums  at  an  upper  window. 

Ambry  heaved  down  his  kit  himself  and  bore  it  up 
the  steps,  with  the  laudable  desire  to  be  in  character 
from  the  very  first  moment.  A  pale-faced  little  maid 
with  abnormally  long,  thin  arms,  opened  the  door  to 
him  and  took  his  name  in  rather  a  flutter,  leaving  him 
standing  in  the  hall,  a  stranded  but  much-interested 
voyager.  The  shape  of  the  house  pleased  his  eye,  the 
broad  lines,  the  good  moulding  on  cornice  and  stair- 
head, the  low,  heavy  doors  at  right  and  left.  An  agree- 
able, cool,  fresh  odour  floated  down  from  the  upper 
regions.  On  the  first  landing  a  small  muslin  curtain 
moved  gently  in  the  languid  air  from  an  open  window, 


THE  IMMORTAL  GYMNASTS  187 

bringing  relief  at  once  from  that  stifling  oppression  he 
had  brought  in  with  him  from  the  summer  street. 

In  a  moment  the  little  maid  reappeared  at  the  top 
of  the  stairs,  followed  immediately  by  a  tall,  thin 
woman  who  bent  her  grey  head  and  asked  him  in  a 
very  sweet,  rather  odd  voice  if  he  would  not  come  up. 

"  My  brother  will  be  so  sorry  that  he  is  not  here 
to  meet  you — Mr.  Holmes,"  she  hesitated  over  the  name 
with  a  droll  little  intonation,  "  but  he  is  doubtless  de- 
layed by  some  one  of  those  extraordinary  happenings 
that  are  a  commonplace  of  our  life  here.  We  are  both 
so  very  happy  to  welcome  you.  It  will  mean  so  much  to 
John  to  have  you  to  talk  to.  I  make  but  a  feeble 
listener,  for  I  always  wish  to  chatter  interminably  to 
him  about  my  own  little  affairs,  in  which,  of  course, 
no  one  but  myself  can  have  any  but  the  most  per- 
functory interest." 

Gently  rambling  on,  her  thin  hands  moving  rest- 
lessly, now  patting  the  brooch  at  her  neck,  now  touch- 
ing an  invisible  hairpin,  now  setting  a  net  to  rights 
over  the  rather  unruly  fringe  of  her  grey  hair,  her 
kind  eyes  bent  quietly,  critically,  quizzically  upon  her 
young  guest,  Miss  Johnstone-Ford  led  him  into  the 
front  room  on  the  second  storey,  apparently  fitted  to 
be  sitting-room,  study,  and  general  meeting-place.  It 
was  plain  to  severity,  and  spotlessly  clean.  The  pan- 
elled walls,  the  wood  scraped  and  painted,  carried  no 
pictures  or  ornaments;  a  carpenter  had  run  up  deal 
shelves  for  the  books ;  papers,  notebooks,  and  writing- 
gear  were  arranged  on  a  sort  of  long  standing  desk 
near  the  window,  leaving  free  a  round,  polished  table 
drawn  up  by  the  empty  fireplace  where  the  meals  of 


188  THE  IMMORTAL  GYMNASTS 

the  family  were  evidently  served.  A  lady's  rickety 
little  writing-desk  stood  against  the  wall,  having  near 
it  a  low  chair  and  a  hassock  with  a  worked  tapestry 
top.  Half  surrounding  these  objects  was  a  screen 
upon  whose  paper  sides  had  been  painted  a  fantastic 
Roman  episode  of  the  Empire — some  embarkation  on 
the  Tiber  from  a  riverside  villa,  the  black  and  white 
squares  of  the  pavement  diminishing,  very  well  fore- 
shortened, down  to  the  water's  edge.  Evidently  this  bit 
of  the  apartment  represented  the  withdrawing-room  of 
the  lady  of  the  household.  The  gay,  embroidered 
petunias  on  the  footstool  top,  and  the  pink  geraniums 
outside  the  muslin-shrouded  window',  were  the  only 
dabs  of  colour  in  the  cool,  encompassing  greyness. 

Ambry,  regarding  his  hostess  with  interest,  could 
have  smiled  at  the  neat  fashion  in  which  Nature,  for 
once  unwasteful,  had  used  the  brother's  features  to 
furnish  forth  the  sister's  countenance.  You  saw  the 
same  bony  structure,  the  well-set  ears,  the  beaked  nose, 
but  here  the  slightly  narrower  brow  was  covered  by  a 
dense  fringe  of  grey  hair,  the  nose,  with  more  generous 
nostrils,  had  an  oddly  engaging  upward  tilt,  the  cheeks, 
the  corners  of  the  eyes,  unworn  by  the  searching  ac- 
tivity of  a  restless  mind,  had  a  certain  smooth,  almost 
youthful  freshness.  She  was  painfully  thin  and  flat 
under  her  little  black  blouse,  and  you  had  a  shrewd 
suspicion  that  she  frequently  forgot  to  eat.  Ambry 
felt  a  strong  liking  for  her  at  once,  of  which,  being 
very  feminine,  she  doubtless  became  subtly  conscious  in 
less  time  than  it  takes  to  write  it. 

"  How  you  are  ever  going  to  manage  in  your  box 
of  a  room,  I  don't  know."     She  threw  up  her  hands 


THE  IMMORTAL  GYMNASTS  189 

in  laughing  bewilderment.  "  The  only  thing  for  us 
to  do  is  to  work  you  so  hard  that  you'll  drop  asleep 
before  you  have  a  chance  to  feel  the  walls  closing  in 
on  you.  Will  you  come  and  see  it  now?  Then  we'll 
have  luncheon  and  John  will  surely  be  back  by  that 
time  in  a  fever  of  impatience  at  not  having  been  here 
to  make  you  welcome  in  person." 

As  she  spoke,  she  opened  a  door  masked  in  the  wood- 
work at  one  side  of  the  room,  and  led  the  way  into  a 
species  of  walled-in  corridor,  as  narrow  as  a  hall,  that 
might  once  have  served  as  a  dressing-closet.  The  orig- 
inal slit  of  a  window  had  been  enlarged  by  some  previous 
tenant  with  an  eye  to  symmetry,  so  that  it  now  matched 
the  two  in  the  adjoining  room.  A  white  cot,  a  minia- 
ture dressing-table,  and  a  chair  were  all  that  one  could 
possibly  admit,  leaving  space  at  the  same  time  for 
the  human  occupant.  Miss  Johnstone-Ford  pointed  to 
the  bed. 

"  It  looks  wobbly,  but  I  assure  you  it  isn't,  and  you 
perceive  that  it  is  long  enough,  even  for  you,"  she 
glanced  up  at  the  high  head  beside  her.  "  John  made 
me  very  particular  about  that." 

"  I  feel  perfectly  sure  that  I  shall  be  as  happy  as 
possible  here,  dear  Miss  Johnstone-Ford,  and  as  good 
as  gold,"  said  Ambry,  warmly  and  sincerely.  "  Your 
offer  to  take  me  in,  coming  just  at  this  time,  has  made 
a  tremendous  difference  to  me.  I  really  can't  tell  you 
how  much." 

"  It  is  nice  of  you  to  swallow  us  so  easily,"  replied 
the  lady.  "  You  are  merely  to  sleep  here,  you  know. 
You  must  use  the  sitting-room  exactly  as  if  it  were 
your  own.    You  have  perhaps  noticed  that  each  of  us 


190  THE  IMMORTAL  GYMNASTS 

has  his  little  corner.  One  shall  be  arranged  for  you, 
too,  never  fear.  I  have  a  feeling  that  we  shall  indulge 
in  some  famous  talks.  John  comes  in  simply  bursting 
with  theories.  By  the  way,  how  do  you  find  him  look- 
ing? "  She  turned  to  Ambry  rather  sharply,  with  a 
strange  little,  upward,  birdlike  look. 

"  Oh,  awfully  well,  I  thought,  and  tremendously  keen 
on  this  class  of  his " 

"  Too  keen,  I'm  afraid,"  said  his  sister  soberly.  "  Oh, 
well,  we  shall  see.  I'll  have  your  traps  brought  up. 
It  is  immensely  decent  of  you  simply  to  try  to  get 
along  with  a  portmanteau  after  the  mass  of  belongings 
to  which  the  modern  young  man  accustoms  himself. 
Shall  we  go  in?  I  think  luncheon  has  been  brought  up. 
John's  room  is  directly  back  of  this  one,  and  mine 
practically  corresponds  to  yours.  The  third  room  in 
the  rear  we  have  turned  into  a  bath,  with  showers  and 
needle  douches  to  keep  us  in  condition." 

As  she  spoke,  Ambry  involuntarily  thought  that 
the  poor  lady  herself  would  stand  a  good  chance  of  being 
knocked  over  by  a  properly  directed  spray,  so  frail 
she  was. 

They  found  Jenny,  the  small  maid,  laying  the  cloth 
and  producing  table  furniture  from  mysterious  cup- 
boards and  hiding-places.  A  pleasing  odour  stole  up 
the  staircase,  and  presently  they  were  sitting  down 
together  to  an  excellent  meal  of  cutlets  and  fish,  green 
peas  and  salad.  In  the  midst  of  it  they  heard  the 
front  door  open  and  close,  the  sound  of  a  voice  in  the 
hall,  of  footsteps  mounting  the  stairs. 

"  Here  he  is  at  last,  poor  dear,"  exclaimed  Miss 
Johnstone-Ford,  half  rising  and  dropping  her  napkin. 


THE  IMMORTAL  GYMNASTS  191 

Ambry  was  cordially  greeted  by  his  old  tutor,  who 
struck  him,  with  his  bright  eye  and  flushed  cheek,  as 
looking  not  quite  himself.  They  reseated  themselves, 
and  Johnstone-Ford  made  an  attempt  merely  at  eat- 
ing. After  assuring  himself  that  Ambry  really  felt 
that  he  could  manage  in  his  straitened  quarters,  and 
that  he  still  held  to  his  determination  to  give  them  and 
Ridges  Street  a  trial,  he  told  him  that  he  would  explain 
his  work  to  him  this  evening,  after  class.  Just  at  this 
moment  he  had  something  on  his  mind  that  he  must 
get  into  writing.  Would  Ambry  excuse  him?  All  this 
said  rather  hurriedly,  as  if  the  speaker  were  under  a 
certain  nervous  strain,  that  he  was  making  a  more  or 
less  violent  effort  to  control.  Ambry,  of  course,  fell 
in  at  once  with  his  suggestion,  and  Miss  Johnstone- 
Ford,  her  eyes  fixed  on  her  brother,  her  poor  hands 
ceaselessly  busy  with  her  napkin,  pinching,  patting, 
folding,  and  smoothing,  threw  herself  gallantly  at  the 
head  of  their  guest,  declaring  that  she  would  carry 
him  over  the  Neighbourhood  House,  give  him  a  hint 
of  his  duties,  about  which,  indeed,  she  knew  quite  as 
much  as  John,  would  lead  him  also  to  her  own  Milk 
Shelter  and  show  him  cats  and  babies,  for  even  a  young 
man  should  know  about  such  things. 

"  Oh,  yes,  my  dear  boy,  you  will  find  Gertrude  a 
far  better  guide  than  I  this  afternoon.  But  once  let 
me  pigeon-hole  this  matter  I  spoke  of,  and  to-night 
we'll  have  one  of  our  Homeric  discourses." 

While  they  had  been  speaking,  Jenny  had  cleared 
the  table,  placing  thereon  plums  and  nectarines,  downy, 
sun-warmed,  perfumed,  in  a  sort  of  woven  lacquer 
basket,  the  coffee-machine,  tiny  cups,  cigarettes,  and 


192  THE  IMMORTAL  GYMNASTS 

little  clay  pots  for  ashes.  With  the  soothing  cloud  of 
their  bluish  smoke  about  them,  Ford's  eyes  grew  more 
languid,  and  Gertrude's  hands  quieter. 

Presently  she  turned  to  Ambry.  "  Shall  we  start  in 
ten  minutes'  time?  Don't  you  want  to  change  those 
beautiful  clothes  you  have  on  for  simpler  ones?  I 
know  John  told  you  to  bring  old  things.  I  don't  want 
people  to  think  you  are  an  inquiring  visitor  I  am  show- 
ing about — a  strayed  reveller  from  happier  courts. 
I  wish  you  to  get  first  impressions  as  one  of  us, 
one  of  our  small  staff,  eh? "  She  had  a  most  at- 
tractive way  of  throwing  her  head  sideways,  and  look- 
ing up  at  you.  Anyone  could  see  that  presently  she 
would  be  playing  Peetybee — dear  simple  lady!  to 
his  Varian.  How  certain  types  repeat  themselves 
endlessly  I 

Ambry  laughingly  assented,  and  passed  a  somewhat 
agitated  ten  minutes  in  changing  into  the  most  decayed 
set  of  flannels  that  Dodgson  had  been  able  to  find.  The 
smallness  of  the  room  proved  intensely  confusing,  and 
when  he  paused,  flushed  but  at  least  clad,  his  eye 
embraced  a  frenzied  scene.  Who  would  have  supposed 
that  one  portmanteau  could  contain  so  much?  Who 
would  have  supposed  that  its  varied  contents  would 
display  such  a  superhuman  agility  in  seeking  individual 
resting-places  from  one  end  of  the  room  to  the  other? 
On  the  bed,  or  under  it,  was  all  one  to  them.  They 
swarmed  over  the  dressing-table  and  completely  sub- 
merged the  solitary  chair.  You  waded  through  a  froth 
of  boots  to  reach  the  door,  and  Ambry,  taking  in  the 
effect  with  a  distraught  yet  amused  eye,  for  the  first 
time  in  his  life  rendered  unto  Dodgson  the  things  that 


THE  IMMORTAL  GYMNASTS  193 

were  Dodgson's,  and  mentally  raised  that  invaluable 
person's  wages  on  the  spot. 

Returning  to  the  sitting-room,  not  knowing  where 
else  to  go,  Ambry  found  Ford  standing  at  his  desk, 
his  hand  moving  easily,  quietly,  over  the  paper,  cover- 
ing it  with  line  upon  line  of  his  small,  firm,  crabbed, 
studentlike  script.  He  looked  up  with  a  gentle  smile 
and  no  appearance  of  annoyance.  The  strain  was  over, 
now  that  he  was  expressing  himself  in  his  best-loved 
medium. 

"  Try  that  easy  chair,  my  boy,"  he  suggested 
vaguely.  "  The  books  are  there  to  your  hand."  Then 
he  sank  once  more  beyond  sight  and  hearing. 

Gertrude,  coming  in  softly  from  the  back  room, 
beckoned  Ambry  out  with  her.  She  had  pinned  on  a 
small,  rounded  straw  hat,  coming  well  over  her  face, 
trimmed  with  a  twist  of  lace,  and  a  little  wreath  of 
what  looked  like  elderberries.  A  cotton  parasol  was 
tucked  under  her  arm,  and  she  was  drawing  on  a  pair 
of  thin  black  gloves  that  showed  every  ridge  and  bone, 
almost  every  distended  vein,  in  the  nervous,  restless 
hands. 

"  Did  you  find  your  room  too  distressingly  small? 
Jenny  is  a  very  clever  little  person  about  keeping 
things  in  order.  I'll  send  her  up  now  to  unpack  and 
arrange  for  you.  If  those  are  your  oldest  garments, 
I  don't  know  how  I  shall  ever  pass  you  off  as  anything 
but  a  nobleman  in  disguise,  and  a  very  thin  disguise  at 
that.  However,  one  can't  help  one's  physique.  There 
is  a  case  in  point  in  this  very  neighbourhood.  A  young 
woman  keeps  a  dairy,  sells  you  eggs  and  butter  and 
milk,    looking    meantime    like    the    freshest,    daintiest, 


194  THE  IMMORTAL  GYMNASTS 

most  charming  of  Watteau  shepherdesses.  It's  all  in 
the  lines  of  her  body,  in  the  curves  and  tints  of  her 
face.  You  never  see  the  frock — plain  stuff  in  winter, 
or  print  in  summer,  no  more  no  less." 

Ambry's  attention,  however,  was  beginning  to  wan- 
der. He  hoped  Ford  would  keep  him  busy.  He'd  have 
less  time  to  regret  Dodgson  and — other  people.  .  .  . 
She  must  have  his  telegram  by  now.  He  almost  pulled 
out  his  watch,  but  stayed  his  hand  in  time  and  wrenched 
his  thoughts  away  from  the  exasperating  sweets  of  Bel- 
grave  Square,  back  to  the  noisome  realities  of  Ridges 
Street. 

They  had  been  too  much  engaged  in  their  conversa- 
tion to  notice  that  their  advance  on  the  wooden  build- 
ing with  a  zinc  roof,  known  as  the  Neighbourhood 
House,  had  many  of  the  special  features  of  a  royal 
progress — a  line  of  slatternly  heads  at  the  windows, 
an  escort  of  doleful  urchins  at  right  and  left,  openly 
curious,  obviously  cynical,  the  wag  among  them  giving 
a  not  bad  imitation  of  Ambry's  careless  stride. 

Gertrude,  becoming  suddenly  aware  of  these  frisking 
youths,  turned  upon  them,  called  them  by  name,  in- 
quired about  the  mother  of  one,  the  baby-sister  of 
another,  plainly  a  very  new  acquisition,  and,  in  two 
minutes,  by  the  exercise  of  the  genuine,  honest  power 
she  possessed  to  meet  other  human  beings,  no  matter 
how  small  and  impish,  on  a  common,  friendly  level, 
had  turned  the  mocking  cohorts  into  a  band  of  youthful 
friends,  eager  to  accompany  them  to  their  destination. 
Such  is  a  simple  woman's  simple  magic. 

The  bare  rooms  of  the  Guild  presented  the  familiar 
aspect  associated  with  all  such  enterprises.     They  were 


THE  IMMORTAL  GYMNASTS  195 

clean  enough,  with  their  painted  floors,  their  calcimined 
walls,  on  which  had  been  tacked  coloured  supplements 
of  some  of  the  better  class  of  weekly  periodicals.  The 
men's  reading-room  and  smoking-room  sheltered,  even 
at  this  hour,  certain  shuffling  individuals,  whose  slouch- 
ing backs,  disorganized  legs,  unsteady  eyes,  and  tatter- 
demalion appearance  placed  them  unerringly  in  the 
wide  pigeon-hole  of  the  unemployed  and  the  unemploy- 
able. 

"  Nice  Johnnies,  those,"  thought  Ambry.  "  Poor 
devils,"  he  added  to  himself,  after  another  glance,  pity 
beginning  to  accomplish  her  mission  within  him. 

The  gymnasium  was  not  badly  fitted  up.  "  You 
might  put  the  boys  through  their  paces  here,  some- 
times," remarked  Gertrude.  "  Poor,  little,  stunted, 
underfed  souls!  To  teach  them  how  to  breathe  would 
be  a  step  toward  arousing  in  them  the  desire  to  do  so 
properly.  Something  really  valuable  might  follow  upon 
such  a  beginning." 

"  Here  is  John's  den,  now  to  be  yours."  She  un- 
locked a  door  into  a  high,  narrow  room  with  a  single 
window  opening  on  a  blank-looking,  melancholy  court. 
A  faint  odour  of  dusty  papers,  of  stale  tobacco-smoke, 
of  brown  soap,  made  its  inevitable  impression  upon  un- 
accustomed nostrils. 

"  A  bit  stuffy  here,"  remarked  Gertrude,  throwing 
up  the  window.  She  ran  her  hand  through  an  untidy 
accumulation  of  pamphlets,  address-books,  leaflets,  and 
other  signs  of  anaemic  propaganda.  "  You  have  to 
send  these  things  out — I'll  give  you  the  special  lists. 
Here  is  the  key  to  the  drawers.  Then  there  will  be 
answers  to  write  to  the  thousand  and  one  idiotic  letters 


196  THE  IMMORTAL  GYMNASTS 

with  which  people  are  continually  bombarding  us.  It 
is  just  about  time  to  think  about  the  circulars  of  appeal 
for  funds,  and  aid  of  one  kind  and  another  with  which 
we,  in  our  turn,  annoy  our  friends  of  philanthropic 
or  sentimental  tendencies.  Begging  letters  you  must 
bring  to  me,  for  a  time  at  least,  until  you  can  distin- 
guish the  faked  from  the  genuine.    It  becomes  an  art." 

Ambry  took  it  in,  feeling  not  disinclined  to  set  to 
work  at  once.  But  his  companion  said  that  she  knew 
John  would  prefer  to  start  him  in  person  to-morrow 
morning.  "  I  must  take  a  look  in  on  my  cats  and 
babies,"  said  she,  "  and  I  want  you  to  see  them  with 
me." 

They  went  out  into  the  hall  again  where  they  en- 
countered a  plain,  stout,  fresh-faced  woman  in  a  blue- 
and-white  checked  cotton,  her  arms  full  of  what  looked 
like  mattress-coverings. 

"  How  do  you  do,  Miss  Naylor?  This  is  my  brother's 
assistant,  Mr.  Holmes.  He  has  run  down  for  a  few 
weeks  to  help  us  out.    How  is  everything  going?  " 

Brisk  Miss  Naylor  would  have  wrung  her  hands,  you 
felt  sure,  if  they  had  not  been  otherwise  employed.  So 
she  rolled  her  china-blue  eyes  and  said  the  children 
would  be  the  death  of  her.  They  had  stormed  the 
Library  last  night,  and  little  Miss  Dickinson  was  afraid 
of  them. 

"  Pooh !  "  returned  the  intrepid  Gertrude.  "  I'll  set- 
tle them.    Who  was  the  leader?  " 

"  That  wicked  Pilson  boy." 

"  He's  not  wicked,  the  least  little  bit,"  replied  Miss 
Johnstone-Ford  with  some  heat.  "  He  has  plenty  of 
energy — —  " 


THE  IMMORTAL  GYMNASTS  197 

"  That  he  has,"  darkly  admitted  Naylor. 

"  Which  is  a  good  sign,"  continued  Gertrude,  "  in 
this  depressed,  diseased  spot.  If  your  little  Dickinson 
had  a  scrap  of  diplomacy,  he'd  eat  out  of  her  hand. 
The  next  time  they  storm  the  Library,  get  up  on  a  desk 
or  a  table  and  begin  to  tell  them  stories.  Pepper  them 
enough,  a  la  Monte  Cristo,  and  you'll  have  them  hang- 
ing on  your  words,  three  thick,  begging  for  more.  Oh, 
that  Pilson  family,  I  know  it  well!  The  mother  does 
try,  but  a  babe  every  year  is  a  trifle  upsetting.  I  met 
a  very  small  Pilson  on  my  rounds  the  other  day  and 
inquired  after  his  mother.  She  had  just  been  confined, 
poor  woman,  and  the  small  Pilson  confessed  to  having 
a  new  brother.  *  Another  baby  ?  '  I  exclaimed,  about  to 
ask  its  name,  following  the  etiquette  in  such  cases. 
4  No,  ma'am,'  said  my  small  Pilson,  ■  it's  the  same  old 
baby,  but  ma  calls  it  Henry  this  time.'  Now,  who 
wouldn't  love  that  family,  Miss  Naylor?" 

Ambry's  laugh  and  Miss  Naylor's  delighted  gurgle 
filled  the  corridor. 

"  Ah,  if  we  all  had  a  way  with  us  like  you,  Miss 
Gertrude,  this  would  be  a  different  house.  They  do  de- 
press me  so  sometimes,  these  poor,  sickly  bad-lots,  that 
I  often  think  I'll  have  to  go  back  to  nursing  rich  people 
again." 

"  Never,  never ! "  cried  Gertrude,  "  that  would  be  so 
unimaginative.  We  need  you  here.  Don't  desert  us." 
She  patted  the  mattress-coverings,  being  as  near  as 
she  could  get  to  Miss  Naylor's  motherly  person.  "  But 
we  must  be  going." 

"  I'm  pleased  to  meet  you,  Mr.  Holmes,"  put  in  the 
nurse   primly,   thinking   meanwhile   how   elegantly   she 


198  THE  IMMORTAL  GYMNASTS 

would  describe  him  to  little  Miss  Dickinson.  Ambry's 
laugh  and  his  inches  had  wrought  their  usual  havoc. 

"  Now  for  my  pet  fad,"  said  Gertrude,  as  they  con- 
tinued their  way  to  the  street.  "  When  John  had  to 
leave  Oxford,  I  made  up  my  mind  that  I  would  start 
here  in  London  the  small  milk-mission,  as  one  might 
call  it,  that  has  been  so  successfully  tried  in  America. 
But  I  determined  to  widen  my  sphere,  so  as  to  include 
the  homeless  and  battered  pussy.  Large  dairy-farms, 
for  an  advertisement;  our  old  friend,  the  professional 
philanthropist,  if  I  may  call  him  so;  and  other  souls, 
out  of  the  simple  goodness  of  their  hearts,  supply  us 
with  pure  milk.  We  have  a  pasteurizing  plant,  and 
so  provide  for  the  weak  and  ailing  babies.  We  dole  out 
so  much  each  morning  to  as  many  clients  as  we  can 
handle.  A  couple  of  nurses  I  know  having  volunteered, 
we  keep  open  house,  or  open  creche,  for  the  youngsters 
whose  mothers  go  out  working  by  the  day.  These  are 
the  little  strug-for-lifers  that  you  are  about  to  be 
shown.  In  addition,  I  started  a  kitchen  last  winter 
when  there  was  so  much  frightful  distress,  and  now  we 
give  a  decent  meal  each  midday — meat  soup,  a  vege- 
table, macaroni,  and  bread — to  the  mothers  of  our 
youthful  pensioners." 

"  What  about  the  tabby-cats  ?  "  asked  Ambry. 

"  Wait  and  see,"  laughed  Gertrude  from  under  the 
minuscule  shade  of  her  little  cotton  parasol. 

They  had  left  simmering,  too-odorous  Ridges  Street 
behind  them  on  their  left,  and  were  now  committed  to 
a  quieter  thoroughfare,  poor  still  but  not  pullulating 
with  infants  and  refuse.  Two,  rather  high,  brick 
buildings,  let  out  into  flats  or  tenements,  overshadowed 


THE  IMMORTAL  GYMNASTS  199 

between  them  a  trumpery  wooden  house  set  back  a  few 
feet  from  the  street,  far  enough  to  allow  for  an  expanse 
of  sickly-brownish  soil  in  which  thin  grass  blades  pain- 
fully grew  on  either  side  of  a  boarded  path  that  led 
from  the  wooden  gate  to  the  small  front  door.  All 
this  gave  a  fallacious,  villalike  appearance  to  an  abode 
that  had  lost  caste  along  with  its  neighbourhood.  A 
small  sign  erected  on  the  wooden  paling  announced  the 
hours  when  milk  would  be  forthcoming,  and  as  these 
were  now  long  past  the  gate  was  soberly  latched,  the 
house  door  closed. 

As  they  went  up  the  path  Gertrude  waved  and 
nodded  to  a  pretty  white-capped  girl  whose  head  ap- 
peared between  the  curtains  at  an  open  window. 

"  We  are  going  around  to  see  the  cats  first,"  she 
said.     The  other  smiled  and  drew  back. 

The  path  continued  along  the  side  of  the  house, 
against  whose  stained  boards  morning-glories  had  been 
laborously  trained  on  stout  threads,  until  it  ended  in 
a  fair-sized  plot  of  ground,  once  a  garden,  for  an 
acacia  still  threw  its  thin  shade  across  the  stretch  of 
soil,  now  too  filled  with  cinders,  too  sour  with  drainage, 
too  fatigued  and  old,  even  like  the  rest  of  the  world 
down  here,  to  hold  up  its  head  with  the  grassy  green 
and  flowery  crown  of  earlier,  happier  years. 

"  Not  a  thing  will  grow  here,  as  you  see,"  said  Ger- 
trude, with  a  hopeless  wave  of  her  hand,  "  except  our 
faithful  acacia  and  that  clump  of  catnip  over  in  the 
corner.  But  the  pussies  don't  mind;  it's  a  pleasant 
enough  stamping-ground  for  them." 

As  she  spoke,  her  furry  wretches  came  creeping, 
slouching,    or    sauntering    from    their    little    rickety 


200  THE  IMMORTAL  GYMNASTS 

shelters,  from  behind  boxes,  from  under  bits  of  carpet, 
eyes  shining,  tails  erect,  drawing  nearer  and  nearer  to 
the  feet  of  their  patroness. 

"  Oh,  I  say,  you  know,"  cried  Ambry,  "  it's  as  good 
as  Circe  to  watch  you.  Look  at  that  big  one-eyed  chap 
with  the  jowl." 

The  creatures  circled  around  her  with  loud,  cracked 
purrs,  arching  their  scrubby  backs  against  her  feet, 
rubbing  their  battle-worn  visages  on  her  black  skirt, 
with  that  ingratiating  lowering  and  turning  of  the 
head  that  the  cat  alone  makes  use  of  in  his  hours  of 
ease.  She  patted  them  indiscriminately,  giving,  per- 
haps, an  extra  tweak  to  the  elaborate  whiskers  of  the 
one-eyed  one,  manifestly  the  Sultan  of  this  doleful 
court. 

"  This  is  Richard  Coeur-de-Lion,  poor  old  thing. 
He  has  some  good  blood  in  him." 

"  They  must  raise  a  devil  of  a  row  at  nights,"  re- 
marked Ambry. 

"  Not  so  bad  as  you  would  expect,  they  tell  me. 
They  are  too  old  and  feeble.  Also,  the  neighbourhood 
itself,  being  distinctly  animated  after  dark,  their  squalls 
are  lost  in  the  general  pandemonium.  One  of  them, 
Richard,  for  instance,  in  a  more  genteel  milieu  would, 
undoubtedly,  raise  the  dead  or  the  devil — or  both.  But 
come  in  and  see  the  babies  now.  Take  it  as  you  would 
a  dose  of  medicine.  You  need  not  touch  them,  nor  need 
you  say  a  word.  I  will  let  you  off  easily.  You're  just 
here  for  a  bob  in." 

"Well,  Elsie,  how  are  the  youngsters  to-day?" 

They  were  inside  by  this  time  and  the  pretty  be- 
capped  nurse  had  come  into  the  hall  to  greet  them. 


THE  IMMORTAL  GYMNASTS  201 

"  Nurse  Peters,  this  is  Mr.  Holmes  who  has  come 
down  to  help  my  brother.  If  I  know  young  men,  he's 
more  afraid  of  one  of  your  charges  than  of  an  enraged 
Indian  elephant." 

Pretty  Elsie  blushed  and  laughed.  *  Do  come  in. 
They  are  particularly  good  and  amusing  now,  for  they 
have  just  been  fed." 

They  saw  a  large,  airy,  white  room  filled  with  tod- 
dling, nodding,  or  sleeping  small  beings  in  clean  little 
frocks  and  bibs,  anchored  in  cribs,  in  chairs,  or  in  big, 
soft  baskets.  They  might  easily  have  provided  models 
for  a  great  creche  frieze,  if  such  a  thing  could  be  under- 
taken nowadays,  their  little  forms  bound  against  the 
clear,  cool,  light  stone  with  ribbons  of  yellow  and  blue. 
As  it  was,  they  gurgled  and  ate  and  slept  quite  happily 
through  the  long  day,  thus  gathering  sufficient  strength 
to  withstand  the  hardships  of  the  close,  summer  nights, 
too  tightly  snuggled  into  the  dingy  yet  warm  bosoms 
of  their  own  families.  There  was  a  faint  odour  of  hot 
milk  and  orris  powder  in  the  air,  and  altogether  the 
roomful  presented  a  pleasant,  drowsy,  healthy  aspect. 

"  Jolly  little  chaps,"  Ambry  was  understood  to  say, 
keeping,  with  a  natural  male  instinct,  as  near  the  door 
as  possible.  How  easily  women  took  to  such  things! 
There  was  one  of  the  more  alert  infants  having  a  tre- 
mendous time  with  Gertrude's  finger  from  which  she 
had  slipped  her  glove.  The  pretty  nurse  carried  on 
her  shoulder  a  white  bundle  from  which  tiny  hands,  as 
vaguely  organized  as  baby  starfish,  stuck  out  strug- 
glingly  into  the  air.  The  two  women  were  talking  in 
important  undertones,  doubtless  settling  some  knotty 
point  of  infantile  cuisine. 


202  THE  IMMORTAL  GYMNASTS 

From  the  sad  menagerie  in  the  desolate  garden  you 
could  catch  certain  grumbling  notes,  certain  long- 
drawn  cat-sighs.  Ambry's  thoughts  began  to  wander, 
but  he  jerked  them  back  with  a  proper  instinct  of  self- 
preservation  to  hear  Gertrude  say,  "  How  odd,  it  al- 
ways comes  so  regularly.  Are  we  really  short?  Hasn't 
the  new  Wimbledon  milk  come  either  ?  That  is  nearer. 
Shall  I  run  up  there  and  inquire  ?  " 

"  Oh,  I  don't  believe  that  is  necessary,"  replied 
Nurse  Elsie  hesitatingly.  "  Still,  if  something  doesn't 
come  this  afternoon,  we'll  be  rather  in  a  hole  for 
supper." 

"  I'll  go,  of  course,"  said  Gertrude,  drawing  on 
her  glove,  "  If  the  Wimbledon  milk  can't  get  here,  I'll 
order  some  on  our  own  account.  Good-bye,  the  babies 
are  loves,  and  Mr.  Holmes  has  enjoyed  his  privileges 
enormously." 

She  swept  him  out  with  a  laughing  farewell  to  the 
white-capped  guardian  of  the  sanctuary. 

Standing  in  front  of  the  wooden  gate  Gertrude 
wrinkled  her  brows  at  him  in  mock  distress.  "  What  a 
tale  you  will  have  to  confide  to  John's  sympathetic  ear 
to-night !  I  can  hear  you  say :  '  My  dear  fellow,  I 
came  down  to  help  you,  you  know,  and  I  shall  be  most 
glad  to  stick  to  my  bargain,  but  you  really  must  keep 
me  out  of  the  clutches  of  your  worthy  sister — an  esti- 
mable woman,  doubtless,  but — ! 9  Then  you  will  throw 
up  your  hands  in  a  frenzied  appeal  to  the  gods." 

"  Rather  not !  "  exclaimed  Ambry.  "  I'm  having 
the  most  splendid  afternoon,  you  know.  It  is  most 
good  of  you  to  take  me  under  your  wing  in  this  way. 
I  can't  be  too  grateful.     Lead  on;  I  am  yours;  you 


THE  IMMORTAL  GYMNASTS  203 

can't  shake  me  off.  What  next?  But  first  let  me  open 
your  sunshade."  He  did  it  very  neatly,  having  had 
experience. 

"  Oh,  it's  only  a  bit  of  an  errand  almost  in  the  neigh- 
bourhood— at  least  not  far  off.  Our  regular  milk  sup- 
ply has  not  come,  and  the  new  Wimbledon  offering  is 
mysteriously  delayed  likewise.  It  seems  that  a  de- 
lightful woman  down  there  has  a  tiny  toy  dairy  that 
produces  more  milk  than  she  knows  what  to  do  with. 
She  sends  the  surplus  into  a  certain  local  shop  to  be  given 
away  to  homeless  cats  and  needy  babies.  As  my  Shelter 
cares  for  both,  the  little  shopkeeper — I'll  tell  you  about 
her  in  a  moment — is  to  forward  the  Wimbledon  supply 
to  us.  This  was  to  be  the  first  day,  but  it  has  not 
appeared,  and  a  dark  cloud  is  hanging  over  our  sup- 
pers in  consequence.  Do  you  mind  walking  with  me 
to  the  shop?  It  is  one  of  the  prettiest  places  imagi- 
nable— all  white,  scrubbed  paint,  blue  tiles,  delicious 
pats  of  butter,  thick  cream " 

"  Jove !     You  make  me  ravenous  for  my  tea." 

"  We'll  have  a  specially  festal  one,  I  promise  you. 
You  certainly  deserve  it." 

"  To  show  how  abnormally  clever  I  am,"  went  on 
Ambry,  "  may  I  hazard  the  guess  that  the  mistress  of 
the  delectable  shop  is  the  Watteau  shepherdess  you 
spoke  of  this  morning?" 

"  O  youth ! "  cried  Gertrude,  "  how  things  stick  in 
your  memory !  You  are  perfectly  right.  'Tis  the  very 
little  woman.  I  hope  she'll  be  in  so  that  you  may  see 
her." 

Ambry,  being  human,  hoped  with  her,  and  said  so. 


CHAPTER  FOURTEEN 

THEY  turned  into  Countess  Street,  and  Bina's 
window,  set  with  its  freshest  wares,  shaded  by 
its  awning,  perfumed  with  its  pots  of  roses, 
made  its  customary  gracious  appeal  to  more  than  one 
of  the  senses. 

"  Isn't  it  pretty?  Look  at  that  ducky  basket  of 
eggs ! "  whispered  Gertrude  on  the  threshold.  The 
foolish  little  adjective  that  everyone  was  using  in  those 
days  struck  upon  Ambry's  ear,  dragging  a  veritable 
living-picture  with  it — the  feminine  mob  in  front  of 
Harrod's,  an  idiotic  turban  on  some  stick  of  a  girl, 
and  Estelle,  close  beside  him  in  that  blue-and-white 
dress,  stuck  over  with  buttons — Estelle,  asking  him  if 
he  didn't  think  it  was  a  duck.  Good  heavens !  after 
turning  tail  and  running  away  from  the  girl,  he  found 
her  image  haunting  his  mind  as  it  had  never  done 
when  he  was  supposed  to  be  tied  to  her  chariot  wheels. 

An  old  gentleman  in  spectacles,  seated  upon  a  small 
rush  chair  near  the  little  counter  that  bore  the  shining 
scales  and  the  paper  bags,  reading  a  serious-looking 
calf-bound  tome,  was  the  only  occupant  of  the  shop. 
He  looked  up  mildly  as  their  entrance  interfered  with 
the  light,  but  at  first  appeared  to  regard  them  merely 
as  wandering  shades  who  would  go  out  again  if  you 
didn't  speak  to  them.  This  desired  exit  not  taking 
place,  and  Gertrude's  eye  being  firmly  fastened  upon 
him,  he  came  back,  with  an  effort,  from  dim  tracts  of 

204 


THE  IMMORTAL  GYMNASTS  205 

fascinating  speculation,  to  a  recognition  of  the  im- 
mediate human  needs  of  impatient  human  custom- 
ers. He  now  rose,  with  a  certain  old-fashioned  man- 
ner of  courtesy,  and  inquired  what  Gertrude  might  be 
wanting. 

"  Is  Miss  Panta  in  by  any  chance?  I  mean  the 
young  lady  I  am  in  the  habit  of  seeing  about  here." 

Panta  was  very  sorry,  but  she  had  stepped  out  for 
a  few  moments  on  some  errand  connected  with  the 
shop.  To  telephone  to  Wimbledon  Station,  he  thought 
he  had  heard  her  say.  Was  there  not  something  he 
could  do? 

"  Ah,"  said  Gertrude,  relieved.  "  If  she  is  telephon- 
ing to  Wimbledon,  that  is  exactly  my  affair.  I  am 
Miss  Johnstone-Ford  to  whose  Shelter  the  Wimbledon 
milk  is  to  be  sent — not  having  been  delivered  to-day 
.  .  .  came  to  inquire.  .  .  .  Something  to  replace  it, 
you  know." 

Gertrude's  interest  in  the  conversation  having  died, 
she  drawled  vaguely  to  a  finish,  her  pleased  eye  mean- 
time taking  in  the  arrangements  of  the  little  shop,  the 
cream,  the  white  cheeses,  the  cowslip-butter,  the  fat 
pink  roses. 

Ambry,  rather  filling  up  the  doorway,  idle  hands  in 
the  pockets  of  his  loose  grey  flannel,  was  engaged  in 
scanning  the  horizon  when  he  received  a  shock  akin  to 
that  of  the  Ancient  Mariner  as  he  sighted  his  albatross. 
For,  where  on  earth  had  he  seen  this  charming  being, 
in  the  light,  clear  gown,  with  the  floating  scarf,  the  loose 
gloves,  the  flimsy  little  hat  on  the  thick,  curling  hair — 
such  eyes,  such  skin,  such  lips ! — who  was  bearing  down 
on  the  shop,  and,  incidentally,  on  him?    His  gaze  held 


206  THE  IMMORTAL  GYMNASTS 

her  boldly  as  she  drew  nearer  and  nearer.  He  looked 
at  her  slender  feet,  right — left,  right — left — ah,  he  had 
it  now!  She  was  the  pretty  little  foreign-looking 
woman,  perhaps  a  Russian,  whom  he  had  caught  in 
passing  under  the  lamp  in  Wilton  Place.  Was  it  only 
last  night?  It  seemed  ages  ago.  By  Jove,  she  was 
coming  in.  He  stepped  back  in  a  certain  confusion. 
Bina  looked  up  and  knew  him  at  once,  unlikely  as  his 
presence  was — crazily  unlikely  in  this  particular  spot. 
But,  being  a  woman,  you  did  not  catch  her  off  her 
guard  so  easily,  and  she  turned  a  sweet,  properly  blank 
enough  mask,  first  on  Ambry,  then,  with  a  movement  of 
smiling  recognition,  on  Miss  Johnstone-Ford. 

"  I  am  so  sorry  you  have  been  perhaps  annoyed  by 
the  delay  of  the  Wimbledon  milk,"  she  began,  captur- 
ing the  flighty  ends  of  her  scarf  to  draw  it  more  closely 
around  her  shoulders,  thus  unconsciously  outlining  a 
very  pretty  bit  of  modelling.  "  The  station  people  tell 
me  that  the  trouble  has  been  on  the  railways.  It  will 
be  delivered  from  moment  to  moment  now." 

"  It  is  very  kind  of  you  to  take  so  much  trouble,  Miss 
Panta,"  said  Gertrude,  patting  Bina's  hand.  She  al- 
ways loved  to  stroke  soft,  ingratiating  creatures,  either 
pussy-cats,  babies,  or  young  women. 

"  Will  you  let  me  send  you  some  of  our  own  milk  for 
this  afternoon?  There  will  be  tea  and  supper  to  think 
of  at  the  Shelter,  will  there  not?  "  added  Bina.  She 
was  intensely  conscious  of  being  in  Ambry's  atmos- 
phere, as  he  took  good  care  she  should  be,  but  she  did 
not  show  it,  intrigued  as  she  was  by  his  unexplained 
presence  in  the  shop.  Ah,  he  was  not  like  the  nice 
Varian  who  had  come  in  with  Quin,  so  boyishly,  so 


THE  IMMORTAL  GYMNASTS  207 

frankly,  so  modestly!  You  could  never  have  a  quiet, 
jolly  tea  with  this  one  in  the  cosy  back  room.  He  was 
too  overpowering ;  he  would  make  one  mouthful  of  you, 
and  you  would  be  submerged,  not  caring  very  much  to 
save  yourself,  perhaps,  letting  yourself  be  engulfed 
like  that  poor  little  Anie.  The  whole  story  came  back 
to  her  as  she  babbled  on  to  Gertrude  how  dear  good 
eggs  were.  Wasn't  it  only  last  night  that  they  had 
seen  him  in  the  circles  where  red  carpets  and  footmen 
were  everyday  articles  of  furniture,  with  the  beautiful 
dark  Estelle  who  had  hung  on  his  arm  and  looked  at 
him  with  such  impelling,  possessive  eyes  ?  Whatever  was 
he  doing  in  this  galere?  If  she  had  only  learned  how 
to  use  her  cloud-current,  then  would  she  indeed  have 
lain  at  the  heart  of  this  mystery.  He  certainly  had  the 
quality  of  making  her  very  conscious  of  him,  but  this 
merely  agitated  without  pleasing  her.  Quin  would  be 
so  amused  when  she  told  him.  They  seemed  ever  on 
the  point  of  catching  living  threads,  vital  wires  from 
this  group  of  lives  in  the  small  circle  bounded  by  Bel- 
grave  Square,  Wilton  Place,  and  Wimbledon. 

"  Oh,  no,  it  keeps  perfectly  well  in  an  air-tight  jar," 
she  heard  herself  explaining  to  nice  Miss  Johnstone- 
Ford. 

Gertrude  looked  at  Ambry,  amused  at  his  silence. 
"  We  must  have  some  cream  for  that  famous  tea  of 
ours.  Will  you  give  me  a  small  pot  ? "  she  said, 
turning  to  Bina.  "  I  have  been  dragging  poor  Mr. 
Holmes  from  cats  to  babies  all  the  afternoon  till  he  is 
quite  exhausted." 

"  Very  jolly  little  chaps  they  are,"  remarked  Ambry, 
looking  steadily  at  Bina,  "  and  no  wonder,  fed  on  milk 


208  THE  IMMORTAL  GYMNASTS 

that  passes  through  this  delightful  shop  of  yours. 
It's  the  most  amazing  place;  things  look  simply  deli- 
cious." 

"Don't  they?"  chimed  in  Gertrude,  carefully 
nursing  her  wrapped-up  little  jar.  "  Come  over  and 
see  my  babes,  Miss  Panta,  whenever  you  can.  Good- 
bye, thank  you  so  much  for  telephoning.  Mrs.  Edmon- 
ton and  her  Wimbledon  dairy  will  do  great  things 
for  us." 

So  they  got  themselves  out  of  the  shop,  Bina  half- 
smiling  farewell  to  the  top  button  of  Ambry's  coat,  it 
being  quite  too  much  of  an  effort  to  lift  your  eyes  to 
other  people's  eyes  when  the  people  in  question  happen 
to  be  so  outrageously  tall.  There  may  have  been  other 
reasons,  too,  but  one  needn't  go  into  that.  But  why  did 
Miss  Johnstone-Ford  refer  to  Sir  Ambry  Nunholme  as 
Mr.  Holmes?  Bina  screwed  up  her  pretty  face  over 
this  problem,  as  she  tucked  away  her  hat  and  scarf 
and  gloves.  Here  was  a  pricking  little  mystery  with 
which  to  torment  Quin. 

Ambry,  too,  had  been  given  something  to  wonder 
about.  Who  was  this  Wimbledonian,  Mrs.  Edmonton? 
Varian's  mother?  Hadn't  Varian  said,  by  the  way, 
that  Anie  had  left  town  to  escape  his,  Ambry's,  baleful 
influence,  and  surely  Wimbledon  had  been  the  asylum 
mentioned.  He  racked  his  brains.  Estelle  never  spoke 
of  her  aunt,  and  he,  for  his  part,  never  engaged  in 
general  conversation  with  Lady  Cassock.  Their  inter- 
course had  ever  been  restricted  to  the  subacid-sulky, 
the  jibe  and  the  counter- jibe  of  two  exceedingly  antago- 
nistic personalities.  Consequently,  with  them  he  had 
lived  ever  in  the  moment,  their  people  and  their  past 


THE  IMMORTAL  GYMNASTS  209 

being  as  veiled  as  if  they  had  been  music-hall  artistes. 
His  pace  and  Estelle's  had  been  so  tumultuously  rapid 
that  they  had  had  ears  and  eyes  for  no  one  but  them- 
selves. 

"  Did  you  ever  know  a  Varian  Edmonton  ? "  in- 
quired Ambry,  as  he  insisted  upon  relieving  Gertrude  of 
the  cream. 

"  Don't  squabble  with  me,"  she  said  feebly,  as  she 
handed  it  over  to  him.  They  both  laughed,  having  be- 
come great  friends. 

"  He  was  at  Oxford.  John  licked  us  both  into  shape. 
He  is  an  awfully  good  chap,  really  '  good,'  I  mean.  I 
am  wondering  if  your  Mrs.  Edmonton  of  Wimbledon 
may  not  turn  out  to  be  his  mother." 

"  John  will  know.  He  never  lets  any  of  his  old  boys 
slip  away  entirely,  if  he  can  help  it.  You  are  aware 
how  wonderfully  he  trapped  you." 

"  I'm  jolly  glad  he  did,"  said  Ambry  quickly. 

"  You  see,"  went  on  Gertrude,  "  I  never  knew  his 
boys  all  the  time  he  was  at  Oxford.  I  was  living  with 
a  relative  in  Scotland.  Poor  old  auntie's  death 
two  years  ago  left  me  free  at  last  to  be  with  John. 
By  the  way,  did  I  exaggerate  the  charms  of  my  little 
Watteau  shepherdess?  Wasn't  she  taking  in  that  bit 
of  a  hat?" 

"  She  is  one  of  the  prettiest  women  I  think  I  have 
ever  seen,"  replied  Ambry  in  a  rich  tone  of  conviction. 
He  was  on  the  point  of  saying  that  he  had  encountered 
her  before,  but  decided  not  to.  "  The  old  gentleman, 
too,  seems  to  be  very  much  of  a  character.  They  are 
not  in  the  least  the  stuff  of  which  shopkeepers  are  made. 
They  are  not  English,  I  imagine." 


210  THE  IMMORTAL  GYMNASTS 

"  I  have  understood  vaguely  that  they  came  here 
from  Italy,  but  they  are  certainly  not  Italians." 

"  Father  and  daughter?  "  asked  Ambry. 

"  Yes,  and  there  is  another  member  of  the  household, 
a  cousin,  a  nephew — a  tall,  slim,  very  distinguished 
person  indeed,  I  assure  you." 

"  Um,  a  queer  lot,"  said  Ambry,  going  on  to  speak 
of  something  else.  "  So  that  was  the  chap  with  the 
figure,"  he  thought  to  himself. 

After  they  had  reached  home,  and  Ambry  had  had  a 
smoke,  Gertrude  threw  over  her  shoulder  to  him: 
"  We  don't  dress  for  dinner,  you  know.  John's  class 
wouldn't  put  up  with  it,  we  were  given  to  understand. 
Will  dining  at  seven  make  it  seem  like  a  nursery  tea 
to  you?  " 

Ambry,  on  the  threshold  of  his  narrow  cell,  declared 
that  she  was  not  to  worry  her  hospitable  soul  about 
him — that  he  was  perfectly  happy.  What  a  choice  of 
words,  he  thought  to  himself,  a  shade  disgustedly,  a 
moment  later,  sitting  on  his  bed  that,  thanks  to  Ger- 
trude, really  didn't  wobble,  his  sole  chair  being  other- 
wise engaged.  On  the  instant,  like  a  child,  he  was  in- 
vaded by  a  cold  discomfort  that  meant  homesickness — 
homesickness,  be  it  confessed,  for  the  luxurious  com- 
forts of  Wilton  Place,  for  the  careful  ministrations  of 
the  peerless  Dodgson — homesickness  for  his  abundant 
liberty,  his  freedom  to  give  way  to  whatever  silly  whim 
might  seize  him — to  be  trivial,  to  be  sulky,  to  be  bored 
— here  he  was  really  much  nicer  than  was  natural.  It 
might  prove  a  trifle  wearing  in  the  long  run,  but  you 
simply  had  to  play  up  to  what  Gertrude  expected  of  you. 
She  was  the  most  appealing  of  good  women,  with  her 


THE  IMMORTAL  GYMNASTS  211 

kind,  innocent  eyes,  her  preposterous  fringe,  and  those 
thin,  incapable,  restless  hands.  Ambry  drove  his  own 
into  his  pockets,  and  regarded  gloomily  the  old,  familiar 
faces  of  his  boots,  ranged  in  a  smart  though  rather 
staggering  line  by  the  inexperienced  touch  of  the 
young   Jenny. 

What  had  he  got  himself  into,  and  why?  To  have 
run  away  from  a  girl  whom  you  found  yourself  think- 
ing of  every  minute  seemed  sheer  waste  of  time.  What 
could  she  have  imagined  when  she  read  that  idiotic 
telegram  of  his?  After  last  night — heavens,  only  last 
night !  it  seemed  at  least  a  month  ago — such  a  message 
was  as  brutal  as  if  he  had  struck  her.  But,  if  he  lost 
her,  wasn't  that  what  he  was  after?  Apparently  not, 
to  judge  by  the  sickish  wave  of  anger,  of  pain,  of  miser- 
able, thwarted  longing  that  stole  up  through  heart  and 
brain,  cauterizing,  perhaps,  but  not  soothing.  Oh, 
hang  it  all !    Life  was  becoming  too  complicated. 

Estelle,  for  her  part,  after  driving  home  in  the  dawn, 
with  every  nerve  sending  tumultuous,  seductive  mes- 
sages to  that  proud  high  head,  scratched  off  her  famous 
letter  to  Anie,  being  still  girlish  enough  to  find  relief  in 
a  confidential  outpouring  to  no  matter  how  unsympa- 
thetic an  ear.  Estelle  had  always  regarded  Anie, 
though  actually  the  elder  of  the  two,  as  weak  and  young, 
full  of  silly,  airish  fancies.  However,  in  such  an  event 
as  this,  she  might  possibly  be  of  some  use.  To  get 
Anie  on  her  side,  instead  of  on  mamma's,  in  the  struggle 
that  she  knew  was  coming,  might  just  possibly  be 
worth  while.  She  didn't  think  this  all  out  coolly  at  four 
o'clock  of  the  clear,  softly-shining  summer  morning, 
but  it  was  subconsciously  active  as  she  scrawled  away, 


212  THE  IMMORTAL  GYMNASTS 

with  a  simple  delight  in  recalling,  for  poor  Anie's 
benefit,  as  intensely  as  she  was  able,  the  rather  over- 
powering sensations  that  Ambry  had  managed  to  arouse 
in  her  that  night  by  word  and  look  and  touch.  Estelle 
decided  then,  in  her  own  overbearing  mind,  that  she 
would  marry  him,  whether  there  was  any  money  to  go 
on  or  not.  Other  people  did  it  every  day.  Funds 
could  be  found.  Poor  Estelle,  having  always  had  every- 
thing she  wanted,  and  having  absorbed  from  childhood 
the  Belgravian  atmosphere,  was  as  incapable  as  a 
small,  bright,  engaging  kitten  of  judging  anything 
from  a  reasonable,  financial  standpoint.  Conceive  her 
blind  rebellion  and  her  cold  rage  at  being  dragged  down 
from  these  blissful,  airy  summits,  intoxicating  in  their 
light  and  their  freedom,  by  Ambry's  shuffling  telegram, 
announcing  his  departure,  with  no  string  of  an  address 
left  hanging  out  by  which  he  might  be  jerked  back  to 
London  and  to  her. 

Ah,  she  would  make  him  smart  for  this !  He  should 
pay  to  the  uttermost  farthing  for  these  unsteady  hands, 
these  dry  lips,  this  hot,  spinning  head  of  hers.  She  felt 
herself  quite  capable  of  calling  a  taxi,  of  storming 
Wilton  Place,  and  wrenching  his  address  from  a  pliable 
Dodgson,  had  there  been  anything  to  gain  by  such 
radical  methods.  No,  that  was  just  what  he  would 
expect  her  to  do,  so  she  wouldn't  do  it.  Let  him  wait 
for  a  word  or  a  sign  from  her  in  whatever  beastly  Con- 
tinental hole  he'd  flown  to.  He  wanted  her  as  much  as 
she  wanted  him;  he'd  come  crawling  back.  To  give 
him  his  head  and  not  to  fuss  would  seem  to  be  the 
dictates  of  prudence.  Be  prudent!  That  was  what 
he  was  always  harping  on;  well,  let  him  have  it  then — 


THE  IMMORTAL  GYMNASTS  213 

oh,  as  silent  and  as  prudent  as  you  please !  Meanwhile, 
there  was  the  afternoon  to  face  with  mamma  and  her 
warring  legions,  her  dozens  of  stupid  engagements, 
and — this  torn  telegram,  rolled  into  a  disgusting  little 
ball  by  furious,  hot  fingers. 


CHAPTER  FIFTEEN 

IF  it  seems  to  be  always  teatime,  in  the  cool,  pleasant, 
shady  room  back  of  the  shop,  that  is  only  because 
we  should  never  catch  anyone  there  at  earlier 
hours  when  trade  is  brisk  for  Bina's  nimble  fingers, 
when  Quin  is  off  on  mysterious  errands  of  his  own,  or 
teaching  the  rudiments  of  the  art  of  dancing  to  a  hand- 
ful of  gloomy  little  groundlings  with  a  hungry  eye  on 
future  engagements  with  the  opera  ballet;  or  when 
Panta  is  trailing  his  tired  old  feet  in  and  out  of  his 
dark,  dampish,  paper  and  leather-scented  haunts  along 
Shaftesbury  Avenue,  or  in  even  less  alluring  emporiums, 
hidden  away  back  of  the  markets. 

But  the  sacred  tea-hour  always  drew  them  inevitably 
together  with  its  scented  thread.  Bina  would  trot  in 
first  to  set  open  the  other  window,  or  to  lower  a  shadowy 
curtain — Quin  hated  too  much  light — or  to  stick  some 
more  roses  in  the  big  jar,  bending  over  them  a  face  as 
fresh,  as  delicately  pink  as  they.  Then  the  little  table 
was  rolled  into  position,  the  cups  and  saucers  laid,  the 
water  set  to  boil  on  the  spirit-lamp.  Then,  if  there  were 
as  yet  no  sign  of  the  others,  and  the  shop  still  kept  its 
somnolent  ease,  the  wick  of  the  lamp  was  turned  down 
a  bit,  and  a  morsel  of  Italian  embroidery  was  taken  out 
of  its  nest  in  the  pretty  cretonne  box,  to  lie  in  Bina's 
lap,  to  be  held  up  this  way  and  that  in  slender,  capable 
fingers,  to  be  speared  with  a  shining  needle,  to  be  bound 
over    and    over,    like    poor    Gulliver,    with    lilliputian 

214 


THE  IMMORTAL  GYMNASTS  215 

threads,  to  be  twisted  and  knotted  and  pulled  till  finally 
a  delightful  garland  of  grape  clusters  and  wreathed 
staves  began  to  crawl  about  the  edge  of  the  close, 
yellowish  linen.  Its  pace  was  but  feeble,  as  Bina  never 
worked  on  it  unless  she  was  alone,  for  talking  goes  but 
ill  with  the  purgatory  of  anxious  counting  of  threads 
into  which  this  species  of  embroidery  plunges  you. 

Ah,  there  they  came,  together  this  time ;  Panta  with 
two  books  tied  in  a  strap,  Quin  with  his  hat  in  his 
hand,  the  fine  head  bare,  the  brown  throat  discovered  by 
the  low,  soft  collar  of  the  silk  shirt.  They  seemed  very 
much  interested,  and  even  stopped  aggravatingly  in  the 
doorway  to  finish  what  they  were  saying.  They  should 
have  no  tea  if  they  didn't  let  her  into  their  confidence  at 
once.  They  met  this  ultimatum  with  a  disarming  cheer- 
fulness, telling  her  that  they  were  simply  bursting  with 
their  news.  They  controlled  themselves  admirably, 
however,  until  each  had  his  own  cup  well  in  hand.  There 
are  strawberries,  too,  lying  in  a  leafy  covert  arranged 
in  old-fashioned  champagne  glasses  whose  slender  stems 
carried  proudly  this  green  and  red  panache.  Quin 
pretended  to  gloat  over  them,  and  Panta  balanced  his 
cup  upon  his  knees  where  his  still  unstrapped  treasures 
rested. 

"  Out  with  it !  "  commanded  Bina,  smiling  from  one 
to  the  other.  "  Remember,  Quin,  Panta  and  I  did  not 
keep  you  waiting  that  day  when  your  wonderful  Ambry, 
incognito  like  a  prince  on  his  travels,  dropped  in  upon 
us  from  the  skies." 

"  Rather  not,"  retorted  an  amused  Quin,  mutely 
begging  for  another  cup  of  tea.  "  Both  of  you  fell 
upon  me  so  suddenly,  both  of  you  talked  so  charmingly 


216  THE  IMMORTAL  GYMNASTS 

and  so  rapidly  at  one  and  the  same  time,  that  you  will 
recollect  it  was  almost  ten  minutes  before  I  got  it 
through  my  poor  old  tired  head — awfully  stupid  of  me, 
I  confess — what  had  really  happened.  For  quite  three 
of  them  I  laboured  under  the  impression  that  there  had 
been  a  frightful  railway  smash-up  between  Wimbledon 
and  London,  and  that  Ambry,  our  magnificent  Ambry, 
had  been  mysteriously — found  drowned,  wasn't  it? — in 
a  milk  can !  " 

Bina's  eyes  danced.  "  Quin,  you  villain,  you  know 
how  frightfully  I  am  under  your  thumb,  since  you  dare 
to  talk  in  this  fashion  while  I  actually  have  your  cup 
and  could  cut  off  supplies  on  the  instant.  But  I  am 
much  too  weak  and  loving,  you  see."  She  brought 
him  his  cup  and  stood  looking  down  at  him.  He 
saw  only  too  plainly,  but  not  quite  as  the  little  lady 
meant. 

He  took  up  his  tale.  "  The  plot  thickens,  and  we  are 
in  the  centre  of  it.  With  Ambry,  in  transparent  dis- 
guise, almost  at  our  very  doors  in  the  role  of  Cat-and- 
Baby  inspector  under  the  guidance  of  your  friend,  Miss 
Johnstone-Ford,  complications  are  certainly  to  be 
looked  for,  since  the  other  end  of  the  kite,  the  Wim- 
bledonian  section,  is  bent  upon  paying  you  a  visit,  my 
dear."  He  paused  dramatically  to  let  this  sink  in. 
Bina  rounded  her  eyes,  like  an  inquiring,  rather  timid, 
child,  and  said :  "  Oh,  not  only  Varian,  but  the  others 
too?" 

"  Very  much  so.  First,  mother,  who  wishes  to  see 
the  unusual,  pretty  little  woman," — here  Quin  bowed 
elaborately — "  who  dispenses  the  riches  of  the  Wimble- 
donian   cows.     Oh,  Varian  has  painted  you  well,  my 


THE  IMMORTAL  GYMNASTS  217 

child.  One  can  see  that.  Secondly,  poor  young 
Anie,  who  is  recovering  daily  in  the  gentle  atmosphere 
of  that  rather  remarkable  woman,  Mrs.  Edmonton,  she, 
too — Anie,  I  mean — is  filled  with  a  burning  curiosity 
to  see  the  genius  of  the  shop  of  which  she  cherishes  an 
agreeable  recollection,  especially  of  our  somewhat  un- 
usual curtains,  I  understand." 

"  Quin,  I  could  shake  you !  Are  you  making  this 
up?  What  have  you  been  about,  you  two?  Panta, 
you'll  tell  me  like  a  darling,  won't  you  ?  " 

"  I  am  just  exactly  as  much  of  a  darling  as  Panta," 
interrupted  Quin,  "  and  I  insist  upon  your  hearing  every 
choice  particular  from  my  lips  alone." 

"  I  pant  for  them ! "  cries  Bina,  maliciously  leaving 
it  vague  as  to  whether  she  meant  lips  or  particulars. 

"  You  see,  my  dear,"  began  Panta,  "  we  ran  across 
that  nice  lad,  Varian.  Quin  had  picked  me  up  in 
Trafalgar  Square,  and  we  were  in  Buckingham  Palace 
Road  when  our  young  friend  hailed  us.  We  were  so 
near  his  rooms  that  nothing  would  do  but  we  must  step 
in  for  a  moment  to  get  our  breath.  This  we  did  very 
agreeably  over  some — what  was  it,  Quin  ?  " 

"  Hock  and  Seltzer." 

"  Then  I  looked  at  his  books — he  has  an  unusual 
collection  for  one  so  young — while  Quin  and  he  talked, 
and  the  details  of  this  visit  of  his  mother  and  cousin 
were  arranged.  He  wished  most  politely  to  be  very 
particularly  recalled  to  your  mind." 

"  I  like  him  so  much  better  than  Ambry,"  said  Bina 
dreamily.  "  Ambry  would  make  furious  love  to  you, 
would  snatch  at  you,  sweep  you  off  your  feet,  and  then 
let  you  dangle  while  that  eye  of  his  roved  elsewhere." 


218  THE  IMMORTAL  GYMNASTS 

"  From  what  I  have  gathered  of  our  young  man, 
that  is  a  very  excellent,  thumb-nail  sketch  of  him,"  said 
Quin,  "  due  to  a  woman's  intuition  and  a  five-minute 
interview.  Now,  to  return  to  the  impending  visit. 
Varian  asked,  very  prettily,  if  he  might  be  allowed  to 
bring  in  his  mother  and  cousin  next  week,  on  some  day 
to  be  selected  by  you,  in  order  that  they  might  make  the 
acquaintance  of  Miss  Bina  Panta,  and,  incidentally, 
that  of  the  agreeable  bibliophile,  Mr.  Panta,  and  of 
the  odd,  long-legged  personage  who  seems  to  have  no 
visible  occupation  whatsoever,  at  least  none  that  can 
be  referred  to  in  polite  society,  sandwichmen  and 
dancing- jacks  being  quite  too  low." 

"  Varian  never  hinted  that,"  exclaimed  Bina  hotly. 

"  No,  no,  my  child,"  laughed  Quin  soothingly.  "  I 
was  merely  improvising  on  my  own  particular  leit- 
motif." 

"When  shall  it  be,  then?"  cried  Bina,  becoming 
hospitably  interested.  "  We  must  have  Rug-Pug  on 
the  spot  to  mind  the  shop,  as  it  would  not  be  nice  at  all 
to  be  bobbing  in  and  out  while  they  are  here.  There 
will  be  three  of  them,  and  three  of  us."  Bina  cast  a 
calculating  eye  upon  what  might  pompously  be  called 
the  seating  capacity  of  the  old,  quiet,  brown  room. 
"  Two  on  the  sofa,  one  on  Panta's  leather  throne,  that 
makes  three;  my  little  sewing-chair  four,"  checking 
them  off  on  her  fingers. 

"  I  can  always  twine  myself  about  this  stool,  you 
know,"  put  in  Quin,  amiably  anxious  to  be  helpful. 

"  You  could,  like  a  dear,  I  know,"  replies  Bina, 
"  but  we  should  all  be  tripping  over  your  lovely  legs. 
No,  two  seats  must  be  produced  from  upstairs.     That's 


THE  IMMORTAL  GYMNASTS  219 

not  a  bad  chair  in  your  room,  is  it,  Quin — the  one  with 
the  lyre  back?  " 

"  'Tis  a  perfectly  good  chair,"  was  his  reply,  "  save 
for  its  tendency  to  take  nips  out  of  your  shoulder 
blades,  if  you  don't  sit  in  it  just  so.    I'll  bring  it  down." 

"  That  makes  five,"  counted  Bina  conscientiously, 
"  and  that  prie-dieuish  thing  by  my  bed  will  do  for  me. 
We  must  have  two  little  tables  instead  of  one,  and 
flowers  that  will  not  fight  with  the  strawberries." 

Bina  sank  into  a  housewifely  muse,  Panta  assumed 
his  spectacles,  and,  with  a  leisurely  luxuriousness  of 
anticipation,  began  to  unstrap  his  treasure-trove,  while 
Quin,  in  his  favourite  position  on  the  rug,  his  back 
against  the  side  of  the  empty  grate,  his  legs  in  a  grace- 
ful, if  not  neat,  sprawl,  his  hands  in  his  loose  coat 
pockets,  rested  and  dreamed  with  half-closed,  tired, 
summer-dazzled  eyes.  He  amused  himself  by  seeing 
again,  quite  plainly,  Varian's  rooms  in  Cambridge 
Street,  with  their  scholarly  litter,  the  big  table  drawn 
up  near  the  window,  the  books  upon  books  climbing  up 
the  walls,  the  copies  of  Italian  pictures,  the  curious  little 
seventeenth-century,  coloured  wax  medallions  with  their 
rather  repellent  look  of  life  and  vivacity.  The  aspect 
of  the  room  was  a  shade  precious,  a  shade  precociously 
cultivated,  in  the  famous  "  Oxford  manner,"  but  that 
was  a  fault  of  youth,  something  a  few  years  and  a  little 
rough-and-ready  experience  would  correct.  Let  the 
boy  have  his  Italian  spoils,  his  books  and  his  papers, 
let  him  be  just  a  little  self-conscious  and  dandified  in 
his  pursuit  of  the  true  and  the  beautiful.  He  had  the 
root  of  the  matter  in  him — the  real  fire  was  there,  ready 
to  flame  up,  pure  and  clear,  ready  to  burn  through  the 


220  THE  IMMORTAL  GYMNASTS 

pretty,  concealing,  decorative  crust,  at  one  or  two  good 
puffs  from  that  world-bellows  into  which  the  Zeitgeist 
knows  so  well  how  to  blow  his  potent  breath. 

Then  Quin's  idle,  somnolent  thoughts  wandered  to 
Ambry  and  his  mysterious  descent  upon  Ridges  Street 
— to  see  his  old  tutor,  evidently,  but  why?  Fear  of  the 
beautiful,  storm-cloud  girl,  perhaps,  had  winged  his 
feet.  But  flight  was  useless.  This  Quin  knew.  Estelle 
had  marked  down  Ambry  for  her  own,  and  she'd  get 
him,  too.  How  absurd  it  all  was,  and  yet  what  an 
itching  interest  the  pull  and  set  of  the  current  in  all 
these  dissimilar  lives  could  rouse  in  the  detached  ob- 
server !  He  would  take  an  unofficial  stroll  some  day 
in  the  direction  of  Ridges  Street  to  see  what  wires  he 
could  tap.  The  Wimbledon  friends  must  remain  meat 
only  for  his  ordinary  Cubical  faculties,  but  Ambry, 
with  his  conquering  stare,  his  high  head,  and  his  un- 
deniable charm,  should  give  up  the  most  secret  clues 
of  his  cherished  mechanism,  if  Quin  were  ever  to  cross 
his  path  again.  The  cloud-current,  feebler  as  it  was 
growing,  could  still  answer  for  that. 

The  men  were  so  quiet  that  Bina  had  absently  taken 
up  her  embroidery  in  order  to  round  out  a  minute  grape, 
as  small  as  the  head  of  an  ordinary  pin,  that  was  to 
finish  off  the  rich  little  cluster,  pinched  and  puffed  and 
worked  and  dotted,  all  in  the  tortured  linen.  This  done, 
admired  at  arm's  length  with  one  eye  shut,  and  care- 
fully emboxed,  and  Bina  was  ready  for  instruction  or 
amusement. 

Poor  Quin  was  so  horribly  quiet;  she  could  see  it  in 
his  pose.  She  looked  at  him  sharply,  just  a  trifle 
anxiously.     Could  he  have  fallen  asleep? 


THE  IMMORTAL  GYMNASTS  221 

Conscious  of  her  gaze,  as  he  would  have  been  had  he 
lain  in  the  icy  Caucasus,  Quin  opened  his  eyes  and 
stared  drowsily  at  her. 

"  Confess  you  thought  me  asleep,"  he  said. 

She  nodded,  drawing  up  the  stool  to  sit  beside  him. 
He  wanted,  childishly,  to  put  his  head  in  her  lap,  but 
had  enough  sense  to  see  the  folly  of  such  a  move. 
Did  both  of  them  feel  the  least  little  bit  too  much  aware 
of  one  another? 

Simultaneously  they  turned  upon  poor  Panta  and 
wrested  him  from  his  philosophic  dream. 

"  Panta,  dear,  you  are  falling  asleep,"  cries  Bina. 

This  was  indignantly  denied. 

"  Let  me  have  him,  Panta,"  says  Quin,  putting  up  a 
lazy  hand  for  the  volume,  and  assuming  his  old  position 
on  the  rug. 

"  These  chaps  are  devils  of  fellows  for  coining 
words.  If  their  thought  itself  were  only  clear,  they 
could  draw  upon  sufficient  treasures  in  this  majestic 
English  tongue,  I  wot,  but  they  don't.  The  weak  point 
in  your  friend's  celestial  armour,  Panta,"  he  went  on, 
"  seems  to  me  to  be  a  belittling  of  life,  of  everyday 
experience,  to  the  glorification  of  what  he  himself  con- 
fesses to  be,  as  yet,  a  mere  *  blind  '  swinging." 

"  It  is  blind,  of  course,"  broke  in  Panta,  "  but  only 
with  the  blindness  of — of  a  new-born  kitten's  eye.  The 
organ  of  sight  is  there,  packed  away  quite  complete, 
but  the  moment  is  not  yet  ripe  for  the  awakening. 
Once  grasp  that  you  are  swinging,  although  your  frame 
be  empty,  yet  it  is  there  to  be  filled,  pressed  down  and 
running  over,  with  the  quintessence  of  all  experience 
— of    more    than    you    have   ever   dreamed — when   its 


222  THE  IMMORTAL  GYMNASTS 

growth  is  completed,  when  its  hour  strikes.  In  this 
final  synthesis,  when  the  flood  that  now  surges  out 
of  the  frame  shall  sweep  back  into  it,  *  you '  will  be  as 
a  god.     He  can  say  no  more." 

Quin  rested  his  head  on  his  hand  and  took  this  in. 

"  That  pleases  me  enormously,"  he  said.  "  If  you 
follow  his  thought  as  you  have  done,  there  is  certainly 
a  very  heady  sense  of  exhilaration,  together  with  the 
intellectual  pleasure  in  a  whopping  generalization  to 
which  we  are  all  more  or  less  susceptible.  But,  being 
very  man,  I  must  still  register  my  normal  plaint  that 
sheer  life — the  wonder  and  mystery  of  sex,  the  ravish- 
ment of  the  senses,  the  homely  pleasures  and  pains  of 
daily  experience — terre  a  terre  I  grant  you,  if  you  will 
— that  all  these  are  slurred  over,  regarded  as  of  small 
account  by  your  philosopher,  blind  as  all  his  tribe. 
Ah,  the  most  insignificant  of  lovers  could  teach  him 
his  place  I  The  world,  to  your  man,  seems  but  a  place 
where  human  beings  drag  through  a  kind  of  shadowy 
existence ;  it  is  but  a  species  of  stage  setting  for  certain 
lives,  lived  at  second  hand,  as  though  through  the  mind 
of  a  Balzac  or  a  Stendhal.  This  anaemic,  '  literary ' 
way  of  regarding  life  is  distinctly  reprehensible,  if  not 
stupid.  You  will  grant  that  much.  If  life  be  '  jarred  ' 
and  '  secondary,'  how  can  we  ourselves,  as  Bina,  Panta, 
and  Quin,  be  anything  but  secondary,  too?  See  how 
that  loosens  every  check;  how  the  barriers  sink;  how 
the  waters  rush  in!  We'd  be  submerged,  drowned,  as 
your  blind  kittens,  before  ever  our  eyes  could  open." 

"  You  forget  that  the  foolish  flood  will  turn  when 
the  hour  strikes — but  not  an  instant  before,  Quin — 
will  turn  and  be  transfused,  transmuted,  transfigured, 


THE  IMMORTAL  GYMNASTS  223 

and  glorified,  so  that  you  would  never  know  it  for  the 
same  old  ridiculous  '  life '  we  thought  so  mad,  so 
bad " 

"  But,  oh,  how  sweet  it  was ! "  drawled  Quin,  follow- 
ing Bina  with  dreamy  eyes. 

Panta  shut  the  book  with  a  smart  clap,  and  took  off 
his  spectacles. 

"  Of  course,  you  are  far  beyond  me,"  half-pouted  a 
slightly-bored  Bina.  "  That  bad  old  philosopher-man 
may  write  till  he's  blind,  but  that  won't  give  him  his 
meals,  his  tobacco,  a  nice  warm  fire  for  the  winter 
evenings,  and  someone  to  sew  up  the  holes  in  his 
clothes." 

Unanswerable  argument  of  the  Eternal  Feminine! 
She  has  you  there,  every  time.  You  come  sneaking 
back  to  the  snug  inglenook  and  to  her,  when  the  shoes 
are  worn  through  and  the  stomach  empty,  the  head 
light  with  pain  and  fatigue,  and  the  pot  of  gold  at  the 
foot  of  the  rainbow  as  despairingly  out  of  reach  as 
ever. 

"  But  when  the  poor,  bemused  philosopher  does  see 
the  error  of  his  ways,"  remarks  Quin,  "  then  shall  we 
sing: 

'  Now  winter  nights  enlarge 
The  number  of  their  hours; 
And  clouds  their  storms  discharge 
Upon  the  airy  towers. 
Let  now  the  chimneys  blaze 
And  cups  overflow  with  winet 
Let  well-tuned  words  amaze 
With  harmony  divine! 


224  THE  IMMORTAL  GYMNASTS 

Now  yellow  waxen  lights 
Shall  wait  on  honey  love '  " 


His  nimble  baritone  had  carried  him  very  agreeably 
thus  far,  only  to  fail  with  him  in  mid-air.  He  came 
down  again  to  earth  and  the  hearthrug  to  hear  Bina 
say: 

"  But  why  do  you  leave  off  at  the  prettiest  part,  just 
when  the  candles  are  being  lighted  and  the  love-making 
beginning  ?  " 

"  Why,  indeed  ?  "  moaned  Quin.  "  Heaven  knows 
I'd  like  to  go  on,  my  dear  child,  but  I  have  forgotten 
the  rest.  Come  now,  I  had  quite  lost  sight  of  our  young 
Varian.  I  am  to  send  him  a  line  when  a  certain  Miss 
Panta  makes  up  her  little  mind  what  day  next  week 
she  will  be  receiving.  Get  out  your  calendar,  wrinkle 
your  childish  forehead,  tap  your  lips  with  a  pencil, 
meditate,  cogitate — conjugate — only,  speak  up !  " 

How  he  loved  her  when  he  teased  her!  How  he 
loved  the  soft,  sidelong  look  in  the  dark  eyes,  the  biting 
of  the  lips  to  keep  back  the  smile,  the  quick  repression 
throughout  the  whole  length  of  the  elastic  young  body, 
the  reining  in  of  every  petulant  movement!  Then  she 
let  herself  go  with  a  ferocious  menace. 

"  It  would  serve  you  jolly  well  right,  Master  Quin, 
if  Panta  and  I  were  to  box  your  ears." 

"  Why  me  ?  "  inquired  Panta  mildly. 

"  Because  I'm  not  strong  enough  to  do  it  properly 
by  myself.  However,  since  it  is  Varian  (intense  em- 
phasis) who  asks  me,  I  shall  make  haste  to  set  the  happy 
day."  Tremendous  activity  with  calendar,  notebook, 
and  pencil.     "  We  are  so  overrun  with  engagements," 


THE  IMMORTAL  GYMNASTS  225 

she  smiled  at  the  two  men,  "  that  I  don't  see  how  we  can 
possibly  make  it  before  Wednesday.  Shall  it  be 
Wednesday,  then?  " 

"  Alas,  ah  me,"  groaned  Quin,  "  I've  promised  to 
help  Heffendorfer  that  afternoon  with  a  particularly 
unpromising  batch.    Could  we  say  Thursday  ?  " 

"  But  perfectly,"  declared  Bina.  "  Send  Varian  his 
little  line  to  that  effect.  Before  Rug-Pug  goes  to-night, 
I'll  make  arrangements  with  her.  It  will  be  pleasant 
to  see  his  mother,  won't  it,  Quin?"  Such  innocent, 
inquiring  eyes  raised  to  yours! 

"  Why  so  infernally  pleasant  to  see  his  mother,  I 
wonder?  "  Quin  asked  himself  savagely.  "  She's  only 
getting  back  at  me,  of  course.  I'll  wring  her  little 
neck!" 

But  all  he  said,  not  moving  a  muscle,  was :  "  She 
must  be  a  very  charming  woman  to  have  produced 
such  a  son.  Her  picture  is  on  his  writing-table — a  thin 
slip  of  a  young  creature  with  large,  languid  Italian 
eyes,  the  hair  rolled  up  rather  quaintly  on  her  fore- 
head. It  was  taken  in  Rome  while  he  was  at  Oxford. 
The  mother  was  away  from  him  so  much  in  those  days — 
her  health,  perhaps — that  the  boy  was  thrown  a  great 
deal  with  his  aunt,  Lady  Cassock,  and  the  cousins  Anie 
and  Estelle.  He  showed  me  a  queer  little  faded  photo- 
graph of  Anie  and  himself,  he  a  young  lad  and  she  a 
child,  with  a  wild  mass  of  hair  streaming  down  her 
back  and  such  little,  thin  sticks  of  legs — just  at  the  age 
when  a  girl-child's  petticoats  become,  all  of  a  sudden, 
quite  impossibly  short." 

"  Now  that  I  have  seen  Ambry,"  went  on  Bina — 
"  fancy  if  he  had  known  that  I   knew  him ! — I  shall 


226  THE  IMMORTAL  GYMNASTS 

look  upon  poor  little  Anie  with  such  different  eyes.  I 
confess,  Quin,  although  you  told  her  story  so  chiv- 
alrously, it  was  hard  for  me  to  get  quite  the  right  idea 
of  a  young  girl  who  could  so  desperately  cling  where 
she  was  so  obviously  not  wanted.  It  was  rather  horrible 
to  me.  Now  that  I  have  seen  her  Ambry  at  close  quar- 
ters, I  am  beginning  to  understand  a  bit  better.  He  is 
so  astonishingly  good-looking,  and,  of  course,  he  was 
more  respectful  than  when  he  stared  at  me  in  the  street 
that  night."  Here  Bina  stopped  and  shot  a  glance  at 
Panta,  from  whom  this  small  episode  had  been  carefully 
concealed,  but  he  was  taking  one  of  his  restorative  naps, 
languishing  rather  distortedly  upon  his  treacherous 
leather  cushions. 

"  That's  perfectly  safe,"  said  Quin.  "  I  told  you, 
you  will  remember,  that  we  caught  our  youth  off  his 
guard." 

"  Oh,  he  stared  enough,"  put  in  Bina,  "  but  he  was 
so  charming  and  deferential  to  Miss  Johnstone-Ford, 
and  he  really  did  look  so  awfully  well  in  some  grey 
flannels " 

"  O  woman !  "  cried  Quin,  "  we  little  know  what  bene- 
factors our  tailors  can  be !  And,  of  course,  our  young 
man  was  intensely  occupied  in  mutely  telling  someone 
how  ravishingly  pretty  she  was " 

Bina  had  the  grace  to  blush. 

"  So  you  see,  as  I  did,"  continued  Quin,  "  that  the 
full  stream  of  such  a  personality  as  his  is  rather  apt  to 
take  young  things  off  their  feet,  and  to  drop  them  far 
beyond  the  reach  of  the  ordinary  ropes  and  safeguards 
of  the  shallows.  But  Varian,  far  stronger  than  Ambry* 
in  the  ultimate  ways  that  count,  has  got  her  now,  has 


THE  IMMORTAL  GYMNASTS  227 

pulled  her  back  to  dry  land,  has  pumped  some  pure  air 
into  her  lungs,  and  he  will  see  to  it,  doubtless,  that  it 
will  be  his  hand  to  which  she  will  cling  when  next  she 
wets  those  dainty  feet  of  hers  in  an  emotional  flood." 

"  I  wonder,"  interjected  Bina,  much  interested.  "  He 
is  such  a  delightful  boy,  he  will  make  her  happy,  while 
the  other  sister,  your  storm-cloud,  keeps  Ambry  in 
order.  Don't  you  think  it  very  likely  that  he  has 
thrown  himself  on  the  Johnstone-Fords  to  catch  his 
breath  a  bit?" 

"  Doubtless,"  replied  Quin.  "  A  foolish  move,  for 
it  will  only  make  her  savage,  but  I  suppose  he  couldn't 
be  expected  to  know  that." 

Quin  rose  from  his  rug. 

"  I  must  write  a  line  or  two  to  Varian,  saying  that 
you  will  look  for  them  on  Thursday." 

"  Write  it  here,"  said  Bina,  pulling  out  a  jiggling 
little  table  drawer.  "  Here  is  everything  to  your  hand. 
Then  let  us  go  out  together  for  a  whiff  of  air,  and  we 
can  pop  it  into  the  box.     Will  you  ?  " 

"  Rather ! "  replied  Quin  fervently,  galvanized  into 
a  pleasurable  glow  of  action  by  her  tone,  her  look,  and 
her  suggestion. 

The  note  was  evidently  composed  and  duly  committed 
to  the  pillar-box,  for  it  went  up  to  Varian  next  morning, 
sitting  in  the  toast-rack  on  his  breakfast-tray,  and  was 
read  and  enclosed  in  a  letter  to  Wimbledon. 

The  more  he  saw  of  our  three  friends,  the  more 
Varian  liked  them.  It  tickled  a  certain  sense  in  him 
to  talk  to  individuals  so  frankly  unconventional  in  their 
attitude  to  the  ordinary  normal  London  life ;  who  were 
unspoiled,  unaffected,  quite  quietly  indifferent  to  public 


228  THE  IMMORTAL  GYMNASTS 

opinion  as  a  thing  that  could  not  possibly  count  for 
the  enlightened,  and  who  somehow  gave  the  impression 
of  being  unspotted  from  the  casual  mud  of  the  highway, 
a  liberal  sprinkling  of  which  the  best  of  us  are  apt  to 
carry  about  on  our  nether  garments.  You  felt  it  was 
not  from  any  particular  virtue  on  their  parts,  but  simply 
because  they  were  travelling  on  a  certain  line  that,  lying 
parallel  with  our  own  rather  shoddy,  makeshift  one, 
was  yet  on  a  different  plane,  where  heads  were  steadier, 
brains  clearer,  and  where  the  purity  of  the  air  kept  the 
whole  bodily  and  mental  mechanism  taut  and  fit.  Such 
being  the  case,  fortified  by  their  unique  position,  Quin 
could  drop  down  temporarily  to  our  level  in  order  to 
carry  a  sandwich-board,  himself  grotesquely  travestied, 
simply  as  one  way  of  studying  our  cosmopolitan  life, 
cutting  for  himself  a  cross-section  from  the  upper  Pic- 
cadilly crust  to  the  wriggling  protoplasm  of  the  slums. 
For  the  same  reason,  Bina  could  take  money  over  the 
little  counter,  could  sell  her  perishable  merchandise,  in 
its  jars,  its  bowls,  its  panniers  and  its  bags,  all  the  time 
keeping  the  allure  of  a  dainty  Columbine,  who,  in 
gauzy,  flower-wreathed  skirts  with  beautiful,  slender, 
trembling  legs,  had  fluttered  down  from  heaven  knows 
where — running  away  from  Pierrot,  perhaps — into  this 
little  cosy  nest  of  a  shop. 


CHAPTER  SIXTEEN 

FORTUNE  cajoled  Varian  these  days.  Martini  P 
was  emerging  from  his  mists,  taking  on  a 
personality  that  was  not  wholly  gummed  to- 
gether, after  the  German  manner,  from  gobbets  of  the 
brave  Simone,  from  snips  and  pinches  of  Ugolino  or 
of  Guido.  He  was  beginning  to  articulate  with  a  voice 
of  his  own,  this  poor  Beta,  who,  until  now,  had  choked 
in  the  depressing  promiscuity  of  "  Scuola  di — "  filled 
up  as  the  fancy  took  the  cataloguer. 

But  far  more  important  than  any  such  Franken- 
steinish  dealings  with  an  early  Siennese,  any  such  home 
manufacture  of  an  Italian  Primitive,  was  the  success 
that  had  so  far  attended  Anie's  efforts  to  throw  off 
the  morbid  hold  that  Ambry  had  unwittingly  gained 
upon  her  imagination.  The  affair  of  the  pellets  had 
decidedly  frightened  her.  She  had  interpreted  aright 
the  horrified  message  in  Gita's  eyes.  She  had  seen  the 
look  on  Varian's  face,  had  felt  the  imperative  grip  of 
his  hands  to  some  purpose.  Estelle's  horrible  letter 
gradually  lost  its  Medusa  look.  Estelle  was  so  clever, 
she  could  hold  him  if  she  made  up  her  mind  to.  If  he 
had  thrown  Anie  aside  like  a  limp  little  rag,  he  would 
find  it  a  different  matter  to  loosen  her  sister's  firm, 
white  fingers  from  around  his.  Perhaps  he  wouldn't 
even  try.  .  .  .  Mamma  would  be  fearfully  vexed.  Poor 
Anie  could  go  through  all  the  stock  arguments  by  rote. 
The  only  glimmer  would  be  his  title,  which  wasn't  much 
of  a  one,  but  everything  helped.     While  the  letter  re- 


THE  IMMORTAL  GYMNASTS 


mained  unanswered,  it  seemed  to  send  out  tiny,  restless 
flames  every  time  she  entered  her  room  and  looked  at 
the  writing-table.  So  she  braced  herself  to  the  task, 
and  soon  after  Ambry's  headlong  retirement  to  Ridges 
Street,  sent  Estelle  a  vague  page  and  a  half  scrawl, 
saying  that  she  hoped  they  would  be  happy,  but  that 
Estelle  must  know  what  a  row  mamma  would  make. 
Then,  taking  her  courage  in  both  hands,  she  wrote  that 
she  had  once  met  Ambry  Nunholme  at  the  Lynes. 
Didn't  Estelle  remember?  There  was  absolutely 
nothing,  of  course,  for  Estelle  to  remember,  but  our 
young  lady  ignored  that.  Heavens,  what  a  relief  it  was 
to  have  that  off  her  mind!  She  almost  thought  she 
could  meet  him  now  without  making  a  tragic  little  fool 
of  herself.  She  hurriedly  sealed  her  letter  and  gave  it 
to  the  maid  to  put  in  the  post-bag.  Going  to  the  win- 
dow, the  girl  leaned  out,  breathing  deeply  of  the  night 
air,  dripping  with  garden  scents,  perfumed  with  honey- 
suckle. She  felt  herself  to  be  mysteriously  washed  and 
purified,  as  clean  and  sweet  as  the  good  Catholic  after 
his  Confession. 

This  blissful  state  of  affairs  gave  her  thereafter  the 
untroubled  sleep  of  a  healthy  baby,  and  sent  her  down- 
stairs of  a  morning  with  a  step  that  beat  a  gay  little 
tattoo  upon  the  old  curving  stairs,  with  eyes  on  which 
the  lids  no  longer  weighed  like  white  clouds,  with  lips 
curving  upward  into  the  unknown  future,  not  downward 
into  the  too-familiar  past. 

Bee,  meeting  this  changed  young  person  in  the  hall, 
was  duly  elated  both  for  the  child's  own  sake  and  for 
Gita's,  upon  whom  Anie's  condition  had  had  a  depress- 
ing effect. 


THE  IMMORTAL  GYMNASTS  231 

"  No  need  to  be  banal  these  days  and  to  ask  you 
how  you  slept,"  said  Bee,  drawing  the  girl's  arm 
through  her  own.  "  I  am  walking  to  the  dairy.  Will 
you  come?  " 

The  day  was  close  and  breathless.  An  apricot- 
coloured  fog,  broken  and  thin  enough  in  places  to  be 
called  a  haze,  had  floated  out  with  the  dawn  from  their 
gigantic  neighbour,  that  heaving,  petrol-stifled  London, 
prone  in  its  vast  bulk,  blackened,  tawdry,  yet  still 
magnificent.  From  the  airless  squares,  from  the  livid 
courts,  from  the  traffic-poisoned  river,  this  feathery 
morning  fog  had  escaped,  only  to  be  caught  again,  only 
to  trail  its  tangled  amber  scarves  among  the  trees  and 
gardens  of  suburbia.  The  sun  was  not  yet  strong 
enough  to  suck  up  the  shreds,  and,  meantime,  the  aspect 
of  Nature  was  enhanced,  to  the  sophisticated  eye,  by 
this  odd  fillip  of  the  abnormal.  What  might  not  happen 
in  this  wonderful  atmosphere,  this  golden  morning  twi- 
light, when  not  a  breath  moved  a  leaf,  when  bees  for- 
got to  suck  and  birds  to  sing? 

"  How  curious  and  rather  nasty,"  remarked  Bee, 
who  loved  the  flat,  easy  road  of  every  day. 

Anie  wished  for  the  sympathetic  Varian,  which  was 
a  good  sign. 

When  they  had  finished  their  business  in  the  cool, 
milky,  creamy  dairy-house,  Anie  drew  Bee,  faintly 
protesting,  toward  the  Bois  and  the  lime  alley,  although 
it  was  damper  there  than  ordinary,  and  their  heels  made 
tiny,  imperfect,  swollen  crescents  in  the  heavy  turf. 
The  circle  of  lawn,  half  enclosed  in  its  thick  wings  of 
greenery,  dripped  with  a  crystal  dew  that  hung  tear- 
fully on  every  other  grass  blade,  and  powdered  with  its 


233  THE  IMMORTAL  GYMNASTS 

diamond  dust  those  gossamer  webs  that  rarely  outlive 
the  earliest  morning  hours.  To-day  the  fog  had  set 
back  the  clock,  and  you  had  the  exhilarating  impression 
of  having  gained  on  poor  old  Father  Time  at  last. 

At  the  sides  of  this  natural  greenwood  stage,  where 
the  wings  of  a  real  theatre  would  commence,  enormous 
clumps  of  hollyhocks  had  been  planted.  This  is  what 
Anie  had  come  to  see.  They  made  an  incomparable 
decoration,  the  tall,  budded  spears  shooting  their 
irregular  lengths  from  the  serried  centre,  rearing  them- 
selves valiantly  against  the  clipped  background  of  dense 
shade.  Their  colours  were  that  pure,  cool,  perfect 
lemon  that  always  makes  you  thirsty  to  look  at,  and 
those  freshest  tones  of  pink  that  remind  you  of  all 
charming  things,  from  Alpine  glow  to  a  country  child's 
flushed  cheek.  Just  enough  white,  and  deep,  dahlia- 
like crimson  had  been  chosen  for  accent  and  relief. 
The  buds  had  burst,  and  the  gardener's  dream  was  in 
a  fair  way  to  be  realized. 

"  How  enchanting ! "  breathed  Anie,  as  she  tiptoed 
her  way  across  the  soaking  grass,  dragging  up  with 
difficulty  her  swaddling-clout  of  a  skirt,  tarnishing  with 
beaded  moisture  the  gay,  silver  buckles  of  her  foolish 
little  shoes.  The  rank  stalks  rose  high  above  her  head 
from  this  covert  of  thick  fleshy  leaves.  The  green 
about  each  giant  bud  gave  the  impression  of  having 
been  pinched  together  by  an  amateur  out  of  pale,  woolly 
cloth,  while  the  opened  flowers  themselves,  especially  the 
double  ones,  bore  a  disconcerting  resemblance  to  pink 
and  yellow  paper.  Anie  stared  at  the  horrid  things, 
open-eyed  and  disgusted. 

"  Oh,  what  a  sell !     Don't  come  over,"  she  cried  to 


THE  IMMORTAL  GYMNASTS  233 

Bee,  who  had  just  finished  laboriously  catching  up  a 
voluminous  black  skirt  with  large,  sensible  pins  that  she 
had  been  able  to  produce  from  some  private  hoard. 

"  What  ?  "  asked  this  lady  vaguely,  as  she  made  a 
tentative  sortie  upon  the  water-logged  lawn,  moving 
her  feet  gingerly  in  their  flat,  black-strapped  slippers  of 
mid-Victorian  cut.     Anie  waved  her  back. 

"  Don't  try  it.  You'll  hate  them.  They  look  as  if 
the  stage-carpenter  had  thrown  them  together  after 
he  had  finished  setting  up  the  scenery.  They  are  not 
flowers  at  all;  they  are  brutes,  and  yet  how  beautiful 
they  can  be  from  here."  She  had  regained  dry  land 
by  Bee's  side,  and  they  gazed  together  at  a  decoration 
that,  like  so  much  else  in  life,  has  to  be  focused  exactly 
in  order  to  yield  its  secret. 

"  They  will  be  just  right  for  Varian  on  Saturday," 
remarked  Anie,  not  quite  realizing  how  he  slid  into 
every  experience  of  hers,  however  fleeting,  how  his 
name  had  grown  copartner  with  every  stock  and 
stone  of  the  garden,  with  every  book  and  bibelot  of 
the  house. 

From  the  lower  steps  of  the  terrace  they  were  amazed 
to  see  Gita  calmly  walking  out  of  the  drawing-room 
window — this  Gita  who  ever  played  the  Invisible  Prin- 
cess until  the  luncheon-gong  sent  her  magical  guardians 
scuttling  to  their  dim,  story-book  corners,  and  set  her 
free  to  emerge  from  her  cool,  tranquil,  shady  rooms  in 
her  long-trailing,  vaguely-coloured  garments — silent 
and  gentle,  always  rather  tired  and  aloof  for  the  first 
few  moments — free  to  kiss  Anie,  to  smile  at  Bee,  and  to 
preside  gracefully,  if  languidly,  at  their  pleasant,  in- 
formal meal.     Conceive  their  amaze,  therefore,  at  see- 


234  THE  IMMORTAL  GYMNASTS 

ing  her  at  eleven  o'clock  in  the  morning,  with  her  draw- 
ing-board under  her  arm,  her  colour-box  and  pliable 
stool  grasped  awkwardly  in  her  unaccustomed  hands. 
They  hailed  her  with  glad  shouts,  possessing  themselves 
of  her  belongings,  and,  begging  to  be  told  her  wishes, 
stood  laughingly  at  attention  in  front  of  her. 

"  It  is  the  fog,  of  course,"  she  explained.  "  Who 
could  resist  this  enchanting  light,  even  if  one  choke 
for  it?  I  thought  I  might  get  something  if  I  brought 
my  things  out."  She  looked  about  from  the  edge  of 
the  terrace.     "  Is  the  Bois  too  wet?  " 

"  Yes,  yes — much,"  cried  Anie.  "  And  the  holly- 
hocks, though  ducks,  are  much  too  obvious  for  your 
darling  little  fanciful  sketches." 

"  Fancy  is  banished  to-day,  my  dear.  Science  shall 
direct  my  pencil.  Hence  I  suppose  I  may  as  well  sit 
here  as  anywhere  else.  I  want  to  make  some  studies 
of  leaves  and  the  way  they  hang  from  a  branch.  They 
are  perfectly  motionless  in  this  divinely  clotted  air. 
See,  it  is  as  thick  as  yellow  cream  between  those  beech 
boughs.  Thank  you,  Bee,"  as  the  latter  unfolded  the 
stool,  pressing  down  its  striped  linen  seat  with  an  ex- 
perienced hand.  Anie  set  the  colour-box  close  by  upon 
the  balustrade  of  the  terrace,  under  the  shadow  of  a 
stucco  urn  whose  rounded,  mellow  sides  showed  long, 
irregular,  greyish  cracks. 

"May  I  stay  and  watch?"  she  asked,  as  Bee 
melted  away  toward  the  house,  housewifely  cares  not 
being  lightly  cast  aside  at  eleven  o'clock  in  the 
morning. 

"  Yes,  do,"  murmured  Gita  rather  absently,  the 
pencil  busy  in  those  long,  clever  fingers.     With  con- 


THE  IMMORTAL  GYMNASTS  235 

siderable  address  she  attacked  her  forms,  but  with 
none  of  the  painstaking  care  of  the  lady  amateur.  Her 
pains  had  been  taken  quite  otherwise,  long  ago,  the 
fruit  of  intense  watchfulness,  of  close  attention,  and 
of  mental  concentration.  You  saw  at  once  that  every 
line  was  directed  by  intellectual  effort,  was  the  result 
of  a  personal  formula,  carefully  built  up  and  now 
applied  to  Nature  in  a  fashion  at  once  delicate  and 
individual.  Behind  each  outline  you  were  aware  of 
anatomical  structure,  each  apparently  careless,  un- 
related pencil  scratch  betrayed  a  deft  foreknowledge  of 
the  ultimate  pattern  the  formula  would  succeed  in 
weaving,  be  it  with  a  screen  of  beech  foliage,  or  with  a 
group  of  fallen  chestnut  leaves,  brown  and  sun-scorched, 
their  fragile,  curled  edges  taking  the  movement  of  thin, 
beaten  metal.  All  this  economy  of  line,  accompanied 
by  the  subtle  intelligence  made  use  of  by  people  who 
draw  as  Gita  does,  has  come  to  be  considered  "  Japa- 
nese "  in  studio  patter.  It  might  with  propriety  be 
called  the  result  of  a  certain  philosophic  habit  of  mind, 
not  necessarily  confined  to  any  one  country,  but  cer- 
tainly more  commonly  found  in  the  East  where  a  knowl- 
edge of  the  essence  that  lurks  behind  every  particular 
directs  the  hand  of  artisan  and  artist  alike.  In  that 
well-known  circular  movement  of  brush  or  pencil,  in 
that  symbol  of  the  shadowy,  primordial  egg,  is  held  in 
solution  all  the  most  intricate  of  natural  forms ;  you  are 
given  a  line  or  two — it  seems  no  more  than  that — on  the 
thin,  delicate,  rice-paper,  and,  if  your  eye  be  not  too  in- 
curably gross,  you  see  the  essential  soul  of  a  kingfisher, 
say — a  hawk  or  a  tortoise;  or  you  grasp  the  inner 
magic  of  cherry-blossom  petals,  or  you  hear  the  Circe- 


236  THE  IMMORTAL  GYMNASTS 

song  of  the  grapelike  clusters  of  wistaria.  The  seven- 
teenth-century Dutchmen  did  something  of  this  sort 
with  their  light.  That  light,  which,  sprayed  on  white- 
washed wall  or  boarded  floor,  on  the  quietest  of  inte- 
riors, on  common  fruit  in  a  china  dish,  may  be  said  to 
transfigure  these  homely  objects  into  Platonic  Ideas. 
All  this  cannot  quite  be  claimed  for  our  Madame  Gita, 
but  those  apples  on  a  bough — three  of  them,  I  think 
there  were,  with  a  few  downy  leaves — found  among  her 
sketches,  now  has  its  modest  place  in  one  of  the  great 
private  collections  of  France. 

However,  no  one  was  worrying  her  head  about  such 
transcendental  matters  this  foggy  morning  in  the  moist, 
green  garden,  Gita  least  of  all  as  she  dabbed  at  her 
drawing-board,  with  an  occasional  smile  over  her  shoul- 
der to  an  Anie  perched  on  the  balustrade,  dangling 
her  feet. 

"  I  don't  suppose  you  ever  felt  like  an  Old  Man  of 
the  Sea,  did  you,  Gita?"  asked  this  young  person  in 
a  small  voice,  after  some  half-hour  had  gone  by.  A 
mumble,  taken  to  be  dissent,  from  the  sketcher.  "  I 
have,"  continued  the  experience-worn  jyoungster  on 
the  balustrade.  "  Ever  since  Estelle's  letter  came,  I 
knew  I  must  answer  it  before  it  would  fall  off  my 
shoulders  where  it  seemed  to  be  bound,  all  hot  and  sticky. 
I  couldn't  tear  it  off,  except  on  that  condition.  So  I 
wrote  late  one  night,  and  Page  popped  it  in  the  post- 
bag.  Varian  pulled  me  out  of  a  horrid  mess,  Gita, 
that  perhaps  you  don't  know  anything  about.  Please 
don't  turn  around.  I  can  tell  you  so  much  better  when 
you  are  not  looking  at  me.  There  was  someone  I  met 
in  the  country,  at  the  Lynes.    Of  course,  they  are  your 


THE  IMMORTAL  GYMNASTS  237 

old  friends,  as  well  as  mamma's.  I  lost  my  head — we 
both  lost  them  for  a  week  or  two.  That  was  as  long  as 
he  could  care,  I  suppose.  We  are  so  unlike,  I  bored 
him  and  made  him  savage,  but  I  couldn't  see  it  until 
Varian  opened  my  eyes.  Then  I  came  down  here  and 
you  took  me  in  like  an  angel.  To  know  you  and  to  love 
you,  Gita,  has  given  me  something  no  one  will  ever  be 
able  to  take  away  from  me.  I  am  your  girl  much  more 
than  mamma's.  When  you  looked  at  me  the  other  morn- 
ing— you  know — you  burned  up  the  wish  ever  to  touch 
one  of  the  horrid  things  again.  Varian  frightened  me, 
but  you  saved  me." 

Gita  leaned  over  with  a  hand  on  the  girl's  knee. 

"  You  blessed  infant,"  she  said. 

"  So  I  wrote  to  Estelle,"  went  on  Anie,  "  telling  her 
that  I  had  met  Ambry  at  the  Lynes.  I  never  told 
mamma.  They  never  knew.  Now  Estelle  is  mad 
about  him — and  he  has  never  said  a  word.  She  means 
to  marry  him.  I  thought  I  would  have  died  when  I 
read  it,  but,  actually,  now,  this  very  morning,  safe  with 
you,  I  don't  seem  to  care.  I  am  humbled,  I  am  ashamed, 
I  shall  shiver  when  I  meet  him,  but — it  has  all  shifted 
like  a  scene  in  a  play,  and  you  and  Varian  are  my 
centre,  not  Ambry  any  more." 

"Thank  heaven,  little  Anie!"  Here  Gita  let  her 
sketch  slide  on  a  sudden  impulse  to  take  the  girl  in 
her  arms.  As  she  pressed  the  warm,  ruffled  head  to 
her  breast,  she  had  the  delicious,  trembling  sensation 
that  she  held  Varian  there — Varian,  her  baby,  once 
more. 

It  was  a  moment  that  neither  of  them  was  ever 
likely  to   forget.     Gita  knew  now   that   she  had   got 


238  THE  IMMORTAL  GYMNASTS 

Varian's  wife  in  her  arms,  in  the  shape  of  this  soft 
pleading  young  thing,  and  she  kissed  her  with  this 
rather  solemn  knowledge.  Anie,  on  the  mother's 
breast,  feeling  the  secret  presence  of  the  son,  drew  her- 
self away  shyly,  with  a  caress  as  light  as  one  of  the 
curled  leaves  on  the  drawing-block.  How  good  life 
seemed,  how  fair  the  fog-wrapped  day,  how  infinitely 
that  of  Romance  the  tender,  green,  mysterious  garden  I 
The  girl  looked  far  off  into  the  smoky  sky  with  the 
dazzled,  inward-gazing  eyes  of  the  mystic,  but  she  was  in 
reality  only  a  little  pagan  whose  white  skin  under  the 
heart  had  just  begun  to  show  the  minute,  characteristic 
red  wound  made  by  nothing  under  the  sun  save  a  cer- 
tain god's  tiny,  feathered  barb. 

They  were  idling  over  tea  that  afternoon  near  the 
lime  tunnel  when  Varian's  letter,  enclosing  Quin's  note, 
was  brought  out.  Gita  tore  it  open  eagerly,  for  it  was 
an  unexpected  supplement  to  his  unfailingly  regular 
morning  budget.  Quin's  communication  pleased  her 
immensely. 

"I  like  his  hand,  don't  you?"  she  asked,  as  she 
passes  it  over  the  teapot  to  Anie.  "  He  expresses  him- 
self charmingly,  too.  The  man  must  be  most  unusual. 
In  fact  all  three  are — the  book-collecting  aged  father, 
the  philosophic  sandwichman,  and  the  Delia  Robbia 
dairymaid.  I  shall  look  forward  to  Thursday  and 
our  entertainment  in  that  glorified  (  room-back-of-the- 
shop,'  where  very  good  talk  seems  to  go  forward,  ac- 
cording to  our  boy.  Perhaps  they  might  enjoy  running 
down  here  for  one  of  these  long,  light  evenings,  when 
the  day's  work  is  done.  Varian  could  bring  them  with 
him  and  take  them  back  in  the  car." 


THE  IMMORTAL  GYMNASTS  239 

Anie  looked  up  from  Quin's  note  that  she  had  been 
twisting  in  her  fingers. 

"  It  would  be  jolly,"  she  said.  "  We  could  sit  in 
front  of  the  Bois,  on  our  grassy  stage,  and  imagine  we 
were  a  platonic  academy,  or  strayed  Florentines  out  of 
Boccaccio,  whichever  way  the  conversation  seemed  to 
draw  us." 

"  Tamed  and  fumigated  by  the  centuries,  I  hope,  in 
the  latter  case,"  smiled  Gita.  "  Yes,  that  is  a  delight- 
ful thought.  We  might  arrange  a  little  fete — perhaps 
the  pretty  young  woman  sings  or  dances.  No,  it  is  this 
Mr.  Quin  who  does  that,  quite  astonishingly,  I  under- 
stand. We  may  succeed  in  warming  ourselves  up  to 
something  of  the  kind,  if  all  goes  well.  But  you  are 
as  sober  as  the  woolsack,  little  Anie."  Gita  leaned  over 
and  took  her  hand.  "  Is  something  troubling  you,  my 
dear?" 

"  Oh,  no,  no,"  cried  the  girl.  "  I  am  only  by  way 
of  being  more  of  a  silly  goose  than  usual.  This  note, 
you  know,"  holding  up  poor  Quin's  simple  effort, 
"  gives  me  the  oddest  impression  of  having  once  come 
in  contact  with  the  person  who  wrote  it,  or  rather  he 
with  me,  for  I  cannot  place  him  at  all,  and  yet  I  have 
the  feeling  that  he  knows  me  quite  well.  It  is  rather 
creepy,  isn't  it  ?  and  perfectly  absurd,  of  course.  Please 
put  it  back  in  Varian's  envelope  again,  and  then  I  shall 
forget  that  it  tried  to  say  something  to  me." 

"  Talk  to  Varian  about  it  when  you  see  him,"  sug- 
gests Gita.  "  He  is  interested  in  all  such  subconscious 
manifestations.  A  tiny  pebble  falls  into  our  depths, 
and  it  is  as  though  the  resulting  ripple  spread  and 
spread,  gathering  volume  as  it  rises  straight  up  into 


240  THE  IMMORTAL  GYMNASTS 

our  everyday  life,  so  that  we  say  to  ourselves,  as  you 
did  just  now — *  ah,  something  has  happened  la-bas,' 
but  we  may  never  know  the  inner  meaning  of  the  stone- 
throwing." 

"  I  think  I  may  know  something  when  I  see  him," 
replies  Anie. 

"  Then  Thursday  is  settled.  Varian  says  he  will 
lunch  with  us  and  act  as  our  pilot  to  Countess  Street. 
I  shall  be  rather  pleased  to  have  the  experience.  Ah, 
here  comes  Bee  with  those  wonderful  peaches.  If  you 
will  move  the  teapot,  Anie,  there  will  be  just  room  for 
the  bowl." 

There  was  equally  lively  anticipation  in  the  little 
shop.  On  the  fateful  Thursday  morning  Panta  wisely 
decided  to  take  a  nap  directly  after  luncheon  in  order 
not  to  sink  into  the  insidious,  involuntary  embraces  of 
one  after  tea.  To  that  end  he  forebore  a  bookish 
ramble,  getting  in  a  small  one,  however,  simply  because 
he  couldn't  help  it,  along  Buckingham  Palace  Road 
where  there  are  but  few  pickings  of  the  kind  he  loves. 

The  room  was  cool  and  fresh  and  dim,  the  thin  cur- 
tains gently  moving  in  the  afternoon  breeze,  as  Panta 
descended  the  little  stair,  the  first  of  the  party  to  be 
ready.  He  let  himself  down  on  his  leather  throne,  a 
pleasing  vision  of  an  ancient  man,  in  his  grey  coat  and 
trousers  of  some  strange,  far-off  cut,  to  be  sure;  with 
his  broad,  white  collar  with  pointed  corners  turned  down 
over  a  black  stock  whose  ends  are  laboriously  interlaced 
in  an  approach  to  a  bow;  with  his  thin,  straight  old 
feet  in  snowy  stockings  that  will  wrinkle  around  the 
ankle,  a  la  mousquetaire,  with  soft  slippers  carefully 
blacked  at  the  toe  where  they  are  apt  to  be  a  little 


THE  IMMORTAL  GYMNASTS  241 

stubby,  you  know.  The  long-fingered,  veined  old  hands 
were  busy,  with  that  polite,  simulated  air  of  business 
that  we  all  know  how  to  assume  when  we  have  some 
twenty  minutes  to  get  through  in  a  gentlemanly  manner 
before  something  nice  is  going  to  happen — before  the 
guests  arrive,  before  the  car  snorts  gayly  at  the  door, 
before  the  water  boils  over  in  joyous  anticipation.  In 
this  delusive  manner  were  Panta's  hands  busy — busy 
with  who  but  his  ancient  gossip,  that  "  Immortal  Gym- 
nast "  ? 

Quin,  in  his  character  of  strong  man,  had,  earlier  in 
the  day,  brought  down  the  required  chairs,  even  to 
Bina's  bedroom  one  that  certainly  does  bear  a  mystic 
resemblance  to  a  prie-dieu,  with  its  low,  sober-coloured 
seat,  its  long,  curved  back  that  ends  in  a  sudden  roll- 
over like  a  breaking  wooden  wave,  that  might  form  a 
very  good  rest  for  a  pair  of  folded,  praying  hands  and  a 
sleek  prayer-book,  but  when  Bina  choses  to  sit  here, 
with  the  mop  of  her  gold-shot  curls  flinging  their  ten- 
drils over  the  slippery  ledge,  folded  hands  and  prayer- 
books  are  the  very  last  things  you  are  apt  to  think  of. 

She  had  selected  small,  white,  innocent-looking  flowers 
for  the  bowls  on  the  little  tables,  with  a  branch  or  two 
of  pale-blue  Canterbury  bells  to  rise  out  of  them  like 
campaniles.  All  the  delicate  tea-furniture  so  simply 
set  forth,  the  fair  china,  the  curious  silver,  were  of  a 
kind  not  often  met  with  outside  of  proud  collections. 
They  were  mostly  early  eighteenth-century,  and  Bina 
had  always  known  how  to  use  them.  Just  now  she  was 
in  the  shop  with  a  tray,  hovering  over  the  cream  jars, 
the  golden  butter  pats,  and  the  ripest  strawberries  in 
their  woven,  brown-green,  lined  nests.     Rug-Pug,  in  a 


242  THE  IMMORTAL  GYMNASTS 

flutter,  but  with  a  sternly  steady  knife,  had  cut  a  heap 
of  waferlike  bread  shavings — one  could  call  them 
nothing  else,  but  'twas  the  fancy  of  the  moment.  Bina 
would  presently  transform  them  into  minute,  three- 
cornered,  cocked-hat  or  diamond-shaped  sandwiches, 
as  the  spirit  moved  her.  Then  she  would  run  upstairs, 
to  run  down  again  presently  in  a  little  frock  of  mull, 
deliciously  yellowish  in  tone,  that  doesn't  follow  the 
fashionable  line  simply  because  you  realize  that  it  is 
much  too  elegantly  fine  for  any  mode  but  its  own. 
It  was  cut  away  to  show  her  pretty,  full  throat,  and  to 
give  you  the  benefit  of  the  enchanting  way  her  hair 
grows  up  from  the  back  of  her  neck.  Her  skin  has  that 
amberish,  sun-warmed  look  that  is  much  more  beautiful 
than  the  traditional,  rather  overdone  milkiness.  Wher- 
ever buttons  appear  on  the  gown,  they  carry  each  a 
deceptive  little  black  velvet  loop  that  pretends  to  be  a 
buttonhole,  and  isn't.  With  a  rose  in  her  breast  she  is 
the  freshest  little  hostess  in  London. 

Quin  tells  her  so,  when  he  looks  in  for  a  moment  on 
the  way  to  the  Gymnasium,  solemnly  swearing  to  be 
back  on  the  tick  of  four-thirty.  As  he  has  rather  a 
developed  time  sense,  she,  contrary  to  all  precedent, 
believes  him. 


CHAPTER  SEVENTEEN 

VARIAN,  full  of  interest  for  the  success  of  his 
venture,  took  his  women  to  Countess  Street 
in  due  season.  Anie  peered  under  the  shop 
awning,  all  eyes  for  the  fragrant  altar  of  the  Bona 
Dea  of  which  she  had  heard  so  much.  In  a  thin, 
powder-blue  gown,  with  a  close  little  upstanding  frill 
of  black  net  about  her  throat,  with  a  shady  tulle  hat 
drooping  over  her  eyes,  and  with  her  long-handled 
parasol,  she  looked  a  slim  child,  trying  with  engaging 
solemnity  to  be  a  grown  woman. 

"  Poor,  dear,  little  thing ! "  thought  Bina  involun- 
tarily, as  she  went  forward  to  meet  them.  "  What  a 
baby  to  be  paddling  in  London  waters  I  No  wonder 
Ambry  made  one  mouthful  of  her.'* 

As  she  took  the  girl's  hand,  who  knows  what  strong, 
steady  throb  of  the  cloud-current  passed  from  her  into 
those  childish  fingers,  up  that  delicate  arm,  into  that 
tired,  half-frightened,  perplexed  young  brain,  carrying 
with  it  the  bright  flag  of  courage,  the  gayety  born  of 
healthy  nerves,  the  frank,  free  pulse  of  full-blooded 
life?  The  girl  dimly  felt  that  something  odd  was 
happening  to  her,  and  that  she  liked  it.  She  smiled 
into  Bina's  eyes  and  squeezed  the  kind  hand.  She  was 
suddenly  aware  that  she  was  going  to  enjoy  her  tea 
enormously,  and  she  looked  around  for  Varian,  turning 
to  that  young  man,  in  imagination  or  in  reality,  at 

243 


244  THE  IMMORTAL  GYMNASTS 

every  wave  of  pleasure  or  pain  that  assaulted  her 
small,  drifting  soul.  He  was  standing  quietly  back 
of  her,  as  it  happened,  and  took  her  in  tow  while  Bina, 
all  soft  courtesy,  charmed  by  Gita  Edmonton's  quiet 
phrases,  by  the  languid  yet  authoritative  atmosphere 
which  enveloped  her,  led  her  guests  into  the  familiar 
brown  room  where  Panta,  very  dignified  and  formal, 
with  an  agreeable,  old-fashioned  precision,  awaited 
them,  much  more  erect  than  usual,  upon  the  hearthrug. 
After  the  unavoidable  naming  of  names,  the  customary 
murmur  of  friendly  imbecilities,  the  inevitable  rustle 
and  small  confusion  of  getting  yourself  seated  where 
you  think  your  hostess  would  like  you  to  be,  everyone 
was  prepared  to  be  gay,  simple,  and  happy,  to  talk  all 
at  once,  to  be  argumentative,  to  be  inconsequent,  to 
laugh  a  great  deal  at  innocent  jokes,  and  to  display  a 
primitive  appetite  for  tea.  Such  was  the  pleasing 
influence  of  this  quiet  back  room,  rather  brown  and 
worn  and  smoky  and  shabby,  but  rifted  with  the  in- 
visible gold  of  the  cloud-currents  ever  subtly  stirring 
through  it. 

When  the  company  were  seated,  Bina  discovered 
with  an  inward  smile  that  Panta  had  secured  his  arm- 
chair, fearing,  perhaps,  for  a  lady's  peace  of  mind  on 
his  treacherous  cushions ;  Varian  had  drawn  up  the 
prie-dieu,  of  all  things,  within  easy  distance  of  his  old 
friend;  Mrs.  Edmonton,  with  the  habitual  instinct 
of  the  true  recliner,  was  gracefully  bent  into  the  curve 
of  the  ancient  sofa,  and  little  Anie  had  appropriated 
the  lyre-backed  chair  close  to  the  pretty  tea-table  where 
she  could  watch  Bina  busy  with  the  spirit-lamp,  where 
she  could  admire  the  darling  china,  and  could  hide  her 


THE  IMxAlQRTAL  GYMNASTS  245 

foolish  little  nose  in  a  provokingly  commodious  Canter- 
bury bell. 

Bina  glanced  at  the  clock,  swelling  with  virtuous 
indignation.  f  No  Quin ! "  Ah,  but  it  still  lacked 
one  minute  of  the  appointed  half-hour.  Bina  appeared 
to  be  accurately  measuring  tea,  answering  at  the  same 
time  a  laughing  question  of  Anie's;  Panta's  voice  was 
running  on  in  a  happy  monologue  on  the  arts  and  art- 
fulness of  the  second-hand  book  people,  followed  with 
amused  interest  by  Varian  and  his  mother,  when  the 
old  clock  emitted  one  wheezy,  petulant  stroke,  just  as 
Quin,  with  that  light,  firm,  even  step  of  his,  appeared 
in  the  doorway.  Bina  smiled  and  gave  herself  a  re- 
proachful shake.  Gita  Edmonton,  from  her  sofa 
nook,  took  in  at  a  glance  the  dark  face,  with  the  deep 
yet  alert  eyes,  the  well-set  shoulders,  the  long  arms, 
the  tall  figure,  intensely  supple  as  the  man  moved. 
He  was  extraordinarily  magnetic.  She  was  at  least 
aware  of  that  as  he  crossed  the  room,  presentations 
being  over,  and  took  his  seat  on  the  end  of  her  sofa. 
Why  didn't  he  start  practice  as  one  of  those  new-fangled 
nerve-doctors,  of  whom  you  are  always  dimly  sus- 
picious, but  to  whom  half  your  friends  rush,  and  to 
whom  one  fine  morning  you  find  yourself  rushing,  too, 
to  be  supported,  to  be  braced,  to  be  bullied  by  a  vivid 
male  personality,  by  the  steady  look  in  a  deep,  kind  eye, 
by  the  grasp  of  just  such  a  fine,  sensitive  hand  as  this? 
Gita  had  warmed  to  this  odd  friend  of  Varian's.  She 
liked  the  way  her  boy  had  greeted  him — the  little  touch 
of  familiarity,  the  hand  on  the  shoulder.  With  that 
keen,  dark  face,  with  that  figure,  in  that  admirably  cut 
blue  serge,  he  might  very  well  be  anything — an  attache 


246  THE  IMMORTAL  GYMNASTS 

of  one  of  the  foreign  embassies,  say.  A  sandwichman, 
indeed!    The  thing  verged  on  the  absurd. 

She  turned  to  him  with  her  gentle,  womanly  smile 
that  to  a  certain  extent  belied  her,  and  prepared  to  find 
out,  with  guileless,  Gitaesque  guile,  what  he  was  made  of. 

Meanwhile,  Anie  was  in  a  fine  tumult.  If  Quin's 
note,  at  second-hand,  had  fluttered  her  with  a  sense 
of  its  mysterious  antecedents,  what  could  not  be  said 
of  the  effect  of  the  man's  own  presence?  The  little 
soul  that  Quin  had  once  held  in  the  hollow  of  his  hand, 
the  young  body  for  one  instant  half  in  his  arms,  giving 
up  its  pitiful  secrets,  unconsciously  unfolding  under  the 
soft  breath  of  the  cloud-current, — this  soul  and  this 
body,  here  in  the  room  back  of  the  shop,  acknowledged 
by  vague,  struggling  symptoms  that  Anie  herself  was 
unable  to  interpret  the  presence  of  their  dominator. 
But  all  this  soon  passed  off,  for  the  cloud-current  was 
rigidly  excluded  from  this  tea-party,  and  Anie's  sub- 
conscious disquiet  ceasing  to  trouble  her  after  Quin 
had  bent  over  her  with  her  cup  of  tea,  advising  her  to 
omit  cream  if  she  cared  for  a  real  Indian  flavour,  she 
was  able  to  telegraph  to  Varian  by  an  expressive  glance 
that  she  thought  his  Mr.  Quin  most  awfully  jolly. 

Submerged  in  the  suave,  mellow  odour  of  that 
mysterious,  golden  brew,  replete  with  marvellously 
melting  cocked-hat  sandwiches,  sustained  by  little 
mounds  of  reddest  strawberries  dipped  in  smooth,  thick 
cream,  our  hosts  and  their  guests  had  finally  reached 
that  pleasant,  stretching,  purring  stage  of  comrade- 
ship,— the  really  perfect  moment  of  human  intercourse. 
When  Varian  and  Quin  had  lighted  up  their  cigarettes, 
the  time  was  ripe  for  conversation. 


THE  IMMORTAL  GYMNASTS  247 

Bina,  who  seemed  to  have  fascinated  Anie,  a  fact 
that  did  not  escape  Quin's  amused,  indulgent  observa- 
tion, had  drawn  that  young  lady  nearer  the  china  cup- 
board, and  they  were  presently  fingering  cups  and  plat- 
ters, quaint  teapots,  and  a  whole  flock  of  little  jugs, 
with  such  gestures,  with  such  pursing  of  the  lips, 
as  are  well  known  to  be  common  to  your  deep-dyed 
connoisseur. 

Gita  turned  to  Quin. 

"  Varian  tells  me  you  have  had  some  talks  in  his 
rooms.  Has  he  confided  to  you  the  secret  of  Martini 
ft?  As  a  mother,  let  me  tell  you — "  here  Gita  shot 
a  glance  at  her  boy, — "  I  am  simply  swollen  with  pride 
and  joy,  but,  as  a  weak,  feminine  imitation  of  a  critic, 
I  have  my  misgivings." 

Quin  laughed.  "  I  know  so  well  what  you  mean — 
this  straining  of  the  attention  after  the  hypercritical, 
after  the  supersubtle.  The  old  gods  are  grown  too 
familiar  for  the  restless  mind  of  youth.  Their  names 
and  their  works  are  too  overlaid  with  commentary,  the 
great  ones  being  now  no  more  than  a  palimpsest, — 
Johann  the  German,  Jacques  the  Frenchman,  Giuseppe 
the  Italian,  having  scratched  and  rewritten,  scratched 
and  rewritten,  all  over  the  poor  great  dead,  so  that  one 
wonders  whither  has  flown  their  once  so  deeply-felt 
charm.  Then  the  young  ones  come  down  the  oft- 
travelled  road,  gay  and  debonair.  '  Who  was  the  real 
genius  ?  Ah,  we  shall  show  you ! '  So  they  dig  and 
delve  and  unearth  some  poor  worthy  soul  of  a  Primitive, 
a  good  enough  journeyman  in  his  day,  perhaps,  but  no 
great  thing,  you  may  be  sure.  Because  he's  fresh, 
because   no    one    has    ever   heard    of   him   before,    the 


248  THE  IMMORTAL  GYMNASTS 

monographs  fly  like  a  shower  of  confetti,  amid  the 
tranced  ecstasies  of  the  coteries.  But  your  son,  Mrs. 
Edmonton,  really  seems  to  be  on  the  trail  of  something 
genuine.  The  scent  is  clear,  and  he  will  make  a  good 
run  to  the  finish.  Whether  many  things  he  claims  for 
his  Beta  might  not — might,  you  see  we  say — without 
too  much  stretching,  belong  to  stout  old  Simone  him- 
self is,  I  confess,  a  distinct  question,  to  my  mind.  But 
there  are  others  of  which  one  cannot  be  so  sure.  That 
odd  mark  of  the  square  heel  is  certainly  an  acute  enough 
stroke.  He  tells  me  that  Fortescue  is  pleased  with 
what  he  has  done,  and  that  the  proofs  will  soon  be 
coming  in.  It  is  amazingly  interesting  work — this 
artistic  excavation  of  a  personality — and  no  wonder 
one  feels  a  godlike  exhilaration  at  times." 

Gita  had  been  watching  Quin's  expressive  face  and 
hands  as  he  talked,  and  his  line  of  thought  marching 
with  her  own,  she  began  to  think  him  extremely  in- 
telligent, as  is  an  amiable  failing  of  most  of  us.  So 
she  followed  this  lead  with  as  much  animation  as  she 
ever  showed.  Varian,  looking  over  at  his  mother, 
smiled  to  see  her  so  interested.  Whenever  she  spoke, 
as  she  was  doing  now,  deliberately  but  without  her  bored 
drawl,  whenever  she  fixed  her  companion  with  those 
languid  dark  eyes  instead  of  promenading  them  vaguely 
over  the  ceiling  and  the  cornice,  her  acute  son  knew 
that  her  attention  had  been  caught  and  rejoiced 
accordingly. 

"  You  mentioned  Fortescue,"  continued  Gita.  "  Do 
you  know  him  or  his  things  ?  " 

Quin  disavowed  any  but  the  most  fleeting  knowledge 
of  either.     "  Your  son  had  a  new  book  of  his  on  his 


THE  IMMORTAL  GYMNASTS  249 

table,"  he  said.  "  I  confess  to  turning  it  over  for  a 
look  at  the  pictures  like  any  schoolboy." 

"  That  is  his  much-heralded  work  on  Greco.  Varian 
brought  it  down  to  me.  According  to  him,  in  their 
little  critical  world,  everyone  has  been  quite  overcome 
by  it.  It  is  doubtless  very  penetrating  and  subtle,  with 
a  great  deal  of  cleverly-managed  insistence  on  a  certain 
peculiar  subjective  bent  of  Greco's  that  perhaps  did, 
but  more  likely  did  not,  exist.  Surely  you  have  noticed, 
Mr.  Quin,  how  increasingly  difficult  it  is  to  be  simple, 
to  be  satisfied  with  the  good,  clear  light  of  common 
day  ?  I  dare  say,  having  set  people  waggling  with  this 
little  squib  of  his,  Rossiter  Fortescue  fancies  he  sees 
long  cracks  commencing  to  invade  that  splendid  high 
finish  of  Velasquez's  fame." 

"  To  be  the  sponsor  of  a  new  little  god  has,  no  doubt, 
its  intoxicating  side,"  mused  Quin.  "  But  weren't  we 
always  taught  that  Greco  was  a  madman?  In  that 
case,  there's  his  morbid  psychology  ready  to  your  hand. 
Do  we  need  a  Mr.  Fortescue  to  put  us  in  our  places  ?  " 

Gita  nodded  approval.  "  This  young  school  is  noth- 
ing if  not  dogmatic.  They  convince,  with  the  formi- 
dable end  of  a  bludgeon  sticking  out  of  their  pocket. 
We  are  such  sheep,  we  follow  into  their  enticing  pen 
for  fear  of  falling  among  the  goats  if  we  stay  outside. 
But  I  do  want  Varian  to  be  sane.  To  a  partial  mother, 
he  seems  to  have  command  of  a  small  vein  of  critical 
insight,  restricted,  perhaps,  but  true.  This  he  must 
keep  objective;  clear,  not  muddy — no  personal  parti- 
pris,  no  subjective  hobby  to  ride,  like  this  coruscating 
Rossiter." 

Varian  caught  the  name. 


250  THE  IMMORTAL  GYMNASTS 

"  Still  harping  on  my  Greco  ?  "  he  laughingly  in- 
quired. "  Mothers  have  their  blind  side.  She  refuses 
Rossiter  his  meed  of  praise.  I  tremble  when  I  think 
of  the  reception  she  is  preparing  for  my  poor  Beta, 
shivering,  as  he  will  be,  in  the  nakedness  of  the  fire-new 
Primitive." 

"  I'll  give  him  a  winding-sheet,"  said  Gita  trans- 
parently ferocious. 

"  Rather !  "  put  in  her  son  with  immense  conviction. 

Varian  turned  to  Panta,  who  had  been  admiring  Mrs. 
Edmonton's  slight,  frail  figure,  her  pale,  clear  skin 
and  tender  eyes.  How  many  such  delicate,  high-bred 
faces  of  just  that  type  had  he  not  seen  in  Italy  in  the 
old  days — those  fair,  patrician  women,  their  soft  necks 
and  brows  glowing  golden  in  the  light  of  the  knots  of 
candles  set  under  each  painted  wooden  box?  In  the 
theatre  at  Padua  he  remembered  that  there  were  sliding 
shutters.  You  pulled  them,  and  so  cut  off  the  view 
of  the  stage.  You  wore  a  mask  then,  you  pretty  lady, 
with  powder  in  your  hair,  and  silver-laced  brocade. 

Panta,  much  to  his  confusion,  was  forced  to  ask 
Varian  to  repeat  his  question.  He  was  ashamed,  but 
Gita's  Italian  eyes  were  the  cause  of  this  inattention. 
He  rarely  slipped  back  now  into  the  past.  It  made  him 
too  sad  and  dreamy,  Bina  said. 

It  appeared  that  Varian  had  asked  him  to  show  his 
mother  the  famous  "  Immortal  Gymnast,"  merely  as  a 
delightful  piece  of  old  binding,  ladies  not  being  sup- 
posed to  be  interested  in  metaphysics.  Panta  hastened 
to  obey,  amusing  Gita  by  the  way  he  plunged  a  long, 
nervous  hand  into  the  hidden  intricacies  of  his  wonderful 
chair  that  combined  the  advantages  of  an  inn  for  a 


THE  IMMORTAL  GYMNASTS  251 

tird  body  and  a  refuge  for  an  harassed  tome.  He 
fished  it  out,  dusted  its  sides  with  a  large,  neat  hand- 
kerchief, and  blew  gently  along  its  edges  before  handing 
it  to  the  lady.  Gita  duly  admired  its  venerable  person, 
sniffed  daintily  its  bookish  aroma,  that  scent,  potent 
in  charm  to  the  elect,  that  is  exuded  like  some  precious 
gum  by  yellow,  century-old  paper,  by  worn,  worked 
leather  from  which  the  gilding  has  fallen  in  flakes  and 
blotches. 

"  I  once  read  Winckelmann,"  murmured  Gita,  in 
order  to  give  herself  a  countenance  before  this  severe 
gymnast,  lying  quiet  for  once  and  grimly  potential  in 
her  lap.  "  He  was  really  much  more  alarming  at 
first  sight  than  he  became  on  a  more  intimate  ac- 
quaintance." 

"  Yes,  yes,"  nodded  Panta.  "  The  gymnast  speaks 
of  that  German  fellow  in  some  reference  or  other  to 
the  fine  arts  at  the  very  back  of  the  book.  I've  read  him 
quite  through  now,  and  am  beginning  all  over  again." 

He  gazed  mildly  at  Gita,  who  said :  "  Philosophizing 
about  art  seems  to  me  to  be  an  exercise  of  small  benefit 
either  to  philosopher  or  to  artist,  for  the  former,  as  a 
rule,  never  even  touches  the  hem  of  the  nethermost 
garment  of  the  great  goddess,  and  the  latter,  cradled  in 
her  lap,  with  his  head  on  her  bosom,  is  blissfully  un- 
conscious that  there  is  anything  wonderful  in  this  good, 
kind,  familiar,  nursing-mother  to  chatter  about  at  all. 
Both,  perhaps,  may  misunderstand  art,  but  both,  most 
assuredly,  misunderstood  each  other." 

"  I  never  thought  of  it  in  just  that  way,"  remarked 
Panta  quite  aghast.  Gita's  eyes  and  voice  were 
hypnotic. 


252  THE  IMMORTAL  GYMNASTS 

Varian  laughed.  "  She's  trying  to  draw  us,  Mr. 
Panta.  Don't  be  taken  in.  My  mother  is  a  delicious 
and — forgive  me,  dearest,  if  I  give  you  away — trans- 
cendental humbug.  When  you  come  to  Wimbledon, 
I'll  show  you  her  drawings,  and  then  perhaps  you'll 
understand." 

Here  Bina  at  the  cupboard  looked  over  her  shoulder, 
amused  at  the  eagerness  of  their  discussion,  a  platter 
aloft  in  her  hands,  her  upraised  arms  emphasizing  the 
graces  of  her  pretty  shape.  Varian,  taking  the  gymnast 
out  of  his  mother's  lap,  joined  Bina  and  Anie.  The 
latter  turned,  to  find  the  strangely  disquieting  but  very 
good-looking  Mr.  Quin  on  his  feet  behind  her  chair. 
She  twisted  her  little  neck,  caught  like  a  tender  white 
bird  in  a  frill  of  net,  looked  up  at  him  with  her  large 
eyes,  but  could  think  of  nothing  to  say. 

"  Poor  child,  she's  afraid  of  me,  without  knowing 
why,"  thought  Quin,  remembering  vividly  the  helpless 
feelings  of  her  small  hands  on  his  breast,  as  she  had 
clutched  at  him  to  save  herself. 

He  drew  up  the  despised  stool  near  the  lyre-backed 
chair,  and  presently  had  the  little  lady  at  her  ease, 
with  some  diverting  tales  of  his  youthful  dancing  co- 
horts, the  infant  products  of  a  Soho  slum,  toeing  it 
energetically,  with  a  certain  desperate  lightness,  their 
precociously  worldly  eyes  already  fixed  upon  "  the 
halls." 

"  Are  some  of  them  pretty  ? "  asked  Anie,  the  in- 
evitable question  of  her  sex. 

"  Perhaps  not  now,  but  a  few  have  what  you  might 
call  prospects,  when  decent  food  and  light  and  air  shall 
have  cleaned  up  their  smug  little  faces.    Their  wits  are 


THE  IMMORTAL  GYMNASTS  353 

sharp  enough  now,  and  here  and  there  you  catch  a 
look  through  a  mop  of  red  hair,  a  turn  of  the  head, 
a  still  angular  undulation  that  distinctly  hints  at  a  per- 
sonality of  the  kind  the  opulent  manager,  that  swollen 
Czar  of  their  curious  world,  is  ever  on  the  look  out  for. 
Poor  little  monkeys  1  The  question  is :  what  would  they 
do  if  they  didn't  do  this?" 

"  But  I  think  it  is  a  charming  profession,"  put  in 
Anie  eagerly.  "  It  has  always  fascinated  me,  so  that 
I  sit  on  the  edge  of  my  chair,  much  to  mamma's  disgust, 
whenever  there  is  a  ballet  at  the  opera.  To  see  a 
swarm  of  them  in  their  tulle  skirts  float  down  on 
their  toes,  trembling  like  white  leaves  that  the  music 
is  shaking,  always  sends  a  delicious  shiver  up  my 
spine." 

"  Ah,  you  see  it  from  ■  the  front,'  "  replied  Quin. 
"  You  see  them  through  the  aesthetic  veil  we  are  always 
pulling  and  pinning  around  them.  But  they  drop  the 
grand  manner  in  the  wings  more  often  than  not,  and 
become  the  hard-bitten  little  cockneys  with  highly- 
developed  muscles,  and  no  artistic  intelligence  to 
speak  of.  The  vogue  for  eccentric  dancing  that  is  now 
coming  in  will  perhaps  be  their  salvation.  It  will  spur 
them  on  to  use  what  brains  they  have,  to  work,  to  in- 
vent, to  originate,  not  merely  to  execute  mechanically 
what  we  hammer  into  them.  Some  bizarre  idea  of  that 
little  red-head  I  spoke  of,  a  few  outrageous  steps,  the 
mad  Polish  music  to  match,  and  you  will  have  the  sen- 
sation of  the  hour.  That  is  the  Dream  in  their  Business, 
that  is  what  they  are  all  striving  for.  It  may  not  be 
art,  but  it  keeps  them  at  it.  It  makes  possible  that 
heart-breaking  toe-exercise,  the  long  hours  on  scanty 


354  THE  IMMORTAL  GYMNASTS 

food,  the  dirt,  the  crowding,  the  jealousy,  and  the  back- 
ache." 

Here  Quin  realized  that  he  might  be  drawing  a 
picture  somewhat  too  realistic  for  these  sweet,  sheltered 
eyes,  but  before  he  could  drag  up  another  topic  more 
suited  to  the  spirit  of  the  hour,  Anie  herself  had  com- 
menced to  tell  him  of  the  Bois  in  the  garden  at  Wimble- 
don, the  green  semicircle  of  turf,  the  great  clusters 
of  hollyhocks  on  either  side  where  lamps  might  be  hung. 

"  I  have  seen  just  such  garden  theatres  in  Italy," 
said  Quin,  taking  up  the  tale,  "  but  there  you  have  the 
tragic,  daggerlike  cypress  for  accent  instead  of  our 
own  mild,  pink  and  yellow  posies.  At  a  villa  near 
Sienna  there  is  such  a  one  where  nobody  has  danced 
or  sung  or  laughed  since  the  eighteenth  century  flickered 
in  its  ashes;  but  what  an  incomparable  setting,  when 
the  moon  and  the  nightingales  are  tearing  your  heart 
out  between  them !  " 

Bina,  behind  with  Varian,  caught  this  dramatic, 
rather  highly-coloured  statement,  and  wondered,  with 
an  internal  smile,  whatever  Quin  could  be  at.  He  him- 
self, somewhat  amused  at  the  vigour  his  conversation 
seemed  to  draw  from  a  jeune  fille  atmosphere  that  has 
been  known  to  paralyse  far  better  men  than  he,  threw 
himself  on  Bina's  mercy,  and  she  did  not  fail  him. 
Under  her  gentle  guidance,  the  talk  became  general,  and 
instantly  gained  in  banality  what  it  lost  in  piquancy. 

Bina's  few  moments  with  Varian  had  sufficed  for 
the  turning  inside  out  of  that  young  man  in  the  interests 
of  feminine  curiosity,  a  process  of  which,  it  need  not 
be  said,  he  remained  profoundly  ignorant.  But  it  put 
naughty  Bina  in  a  fine  flutter  of  pleasing  sentiment. 


THE  IMMORTAL  GYMNASTS  255 

"  He  is  simply  mad  about  the  little  Anie.  Now  that  he 
is  in  the  same  room  with  her,  I  can  feel  the  vibrations 
so  plainly.  He  will  never  get  over  it,  and  when  he  has 
her,  he'll  hold  her  very  tight  indeed — little,  slippery, 
wheedling  thing  that  she  is !  And  Quin  talking  to  her 
about  nightingales  and  the  moon !    It's  in  the  very  air." 

"  Isn't  it  growing  quite  late,  Varian?  "  asked  Gita, 
when  another  half-hour  had  passed,  pausing  in  the 
midst  of  a  question  to  Panta  as  to  what  he  thought  of 
the  relative  charm  of  Goldoni  and  Gozzi.  "  These  long 
twilights  are  as  deceptive  as  they  are  delicious." 

"  H'm,"  murmured  Varian,  quite  happy  between 
Anie  and  Bina.  "  It  is  perhaps  time  that  we  relieve 
these  kind  people  of  our  somewhat  limpetlike  society, 
but  I  confess  I  hate  to  move.  I  am  charmingly  gorged 
in  more  senses  than  one.  I  am  so  intoxicatingly  inert 
that  a  child  could  kidnap  me  and  bear  me  away  in 
his  own  little  pram." 

"  Now  you  see  my  grave  baby  in  his  true  colours, 
Mr.  Quin,"  cried  Gita.  "  Pretending  to  write  books 
indeed ! "  Then,  turning  to  Bina,  "  I  am  afraid  we 
must  be  going,  dear  Miss  Panta.  You  and  your  father 
and  Mr.  Quin  have  given  us  a  very  happy  hour." 

"  Two  would  be  considerably  nearer  the  mark," 
whispered  Varian  to  Anie's  neck  in  the  direction  of 
her  right  ear. 

"  Will  you  come  down  to  us  for  a  long  evening 
soon?"  went  on  Gita.  "Varian  will  bring  you. 
Presently  there  will  be  a  moon.  We  have  a  garden  that 
boasts  of  its  roses.  Anie  will  sing  to  us,  and  we  may 
all  feel  inspired  to  dance.  It  will  give  us  great  pleasure. 
Will  you?" 


256  THE  IMMORTAL  GYMNASTS 

Gita  was  not  accustomed  to  be  resisted,  and  her 
companions  fell  before  her  as  usual,  saying  in  their 
prettiest  manner  that  they  would  be  charmed.  Every- 
one felt  quite  pleasantly  warmed  and  smoothly  stroked. 
Their  personalities  had  met  without  jarring,  their 
minds  had  struck  out  the  proper  mutual  sparks. 

Mrs.  Edmonton  stayed  for  a  moment  before  the 
mirror  to  pat  her  hair  and  to  wind  her  motor-scarf, 
while  Anie  and  Bina  and  Quin  dawdled  into  the  shop 
where  a  confused  Rug-Pug  curtseyed  behind  the  minia- 
ture counter.  Varian  and  Panta  at  the  back  window 
were  busy  over  some  book  or  other. 

"  Varian  dear,"  presently  called  Gita's  voice  from 
the  shop,  where  she  had  joined  the  others. 

"  One  moment,  darling,"  mumbled  her  son  with  his 
forehead  against  the  window-pane 

Bina  was  telling  Mrs.  Edmonton  where  the  Wimbledon 
milk  was  sent. 

"  A  shelter  has  been  started  for  poor  women  and 
their  babies,  and  the  back  garden  is  full  of  haggard 
pussies  who  wail  and  moan  most  oppressively.  Would 
it  interest  you  to  see  it  some  time?  It  is  under  the  eye 
of  a  Miss  Johnstone-Ford  whose  brother  is  the  Secretary 
of  the  Neighbourhood  House.  They  are  from  Ox- 
ford  » 

"  Why,  of  course,"  cried  Gita.  "  He  was  Varian's 
tutor.  A  very  clever  person  with  singular  ideas  that, 
as  a  rule,  find  no  roots  in  the  ordinary  professional 
pasture.  So  that  blessed  milk  has  brought  us  into 
touch  again." 

Meanwhile  Anie,  very  slim  and  straight,  is  standing 
betweeen  the  door  and  the  low,  pot-bellied  window,  ad- 


THE  IMMORTAL  GYMNASTS  257 

miring,  under  Quin's  guidance,  the  colour-scheme  made 
up  of  yellows  and  whites  and  creams,  of  green  and  blue 
and  brown.  It  is  the  palette  of  the  simple  life  when 
you  come  to  think  of  it — of  all  cool,  innocent,  growing 
things,  of  the  blue  sky,  bending  over  the  green  woodland, 
of  primroses,  of  crusty  bread,  of  the  wooden  bowl  of 
warm  milk,  of  the  eggs  broken  for  the  smoking  omelette. 
Ah,  well,  you  have  had  your  day  in  the  country,  tramp- 
ing between  the  hedgerows,  but  how  many  of  you  must 
come  back  at  nightfall  to  that  tired,  livid  old  witch-wife, 
London,  waking  up  only  when  twilight  lets  down  her 
sooty  veil,  rubbing  her  hollow  eyes  that  will  presently 
sparkle  with  reddish  gleams  as  darkness  comes  on,  as 
the  light  springs  from  lamp  to  lamp  along  Piccadilly, 
as  the  life  in  food  and  wine  begins  to  stir  through  worn- 
out  arteries? 

Poor  Quin  returned  from  this  little,  silent,  imagina- 
tive excursion  with  a  sudden,  sharp,  inexplicable  con- 
sciousness that  he  must  get  Anie  away  from  the  door. 
Was  his  dreamy  Delia  Robbia  fantasy  to  be  confronted 
with  the  hot  unrest  of  Post-Impressionism?  To  put 
the  thing  plainly,  Ambry  was  coming  down  Countess 
Street,  that  conquering  step  of  his  bearing  him  nearer 
and  nearer  to  the  shop,  the  which  Quin  had  instantly 
perceived  out  of  the  tail  of  his  eye.  But  the  whole 
thing  developed  so  quickly  that  before  he  could  change 
his  position,  before  he  could  get  between  his  young 
companion  and  the  door,  the  light  was  darkened  by 
that  tall,  well-known  figure,  by  that  high  head,  and 
Ambry,  more  dashed  than  the  little  lady  (for  such  is 
the  queer  nature  of  womankind  when  it  comes  to  the 
scratch),  found  himself,  to  his  panic  horror,  to  be  gaz- 


£58  THE  IMMORTAL  GYMNASTS 

ing  straight  into  the  large,  frightened  eyes  of  the  elder 
Miss  Cassock.  The  little  thing,  half  choked  at  the 
heart,  stood  her  ground  bravely  enough,  although  the 
knob  of  her  wandlike  parasol  shook  in  her  hand.  Quin, 
without  a  word,  stepped  deliberately  in  front  of  her. 
Bina,  grasping  the  situation  with  one  startled  glance, 
came  forward  with  an  engaging  smile  to  take  Ambry  off 
Quin's  hands.  She  had  sufficient  intuition  to  realize  that 
these  two  would  be  better  apart.  She  had  not  forgot- 
ten how  Quin's  arm  had  felt  when  she  had  laid  her  fin- 
gers on  it  after  their  little  evening  encounter  with 
Ambry  then  so  insolently  on  his  own  heath  in  Wilton 
Place. 

Ambry's  eyes  were  blazing,  but  he  smiled  at  her  as 
she  came  toward  him  in  her  pretty,  pale  mull  frock. 
Anie  had  disappeared,  he  noticed.  Good  Lord,  what  a 
mess  !  How  was  he  to  know  they  would  be  so  thick  here, 
of  all  places?  He  supposed  the  slim,  veiled  woman  in 
the  background  was  Varian's  mother.  The  dark  chap 
had  better  talk  to  her,  and  let  him  alone.  He  didn't 
like  his  manner.  When  he  had  idled  in  here,  it  was 
with  the  half -acknowledged  hope  of  finding  the  Watteau 
dairymaid  alone  and  perhaps  not  disinclined  for  con- 
versation. She  was  a  fascinating  little  piece,  and  what 
was  a  fellow  to  do  with  not  a  word  out  of  that  devil 
Estelle?  Gertrude  was  a  dear,  but  old  enough  to  be 
your  mother,  and  so  implacably  good.  This  little  thing 
in  the  shop  looked  so  soft  and  kind,  with  a  spark  in 
her,  too,  by  Jove.  It  was  a  damnable  business  to  be 
caught  in,  and  the  thing  now  was  to  get  himself  out  as 
easily  and  as  quickly  as  possible. 

All  this  flashed  through  his  mind  as  he  took  Bina  in 


THE  IMMORTAL  GYMNASTS  259 

deliberately  from  head  to  foot.  He'd  have  that  much, 
at  least. 

"  I'm  most  awfully  sorry  I've  disturbed  you,  Miss 
Panta.     I  had  no  idea  I  was  interrupting " 

"  One  can  never  interrupt  in  a  shop,"  put  in  Bina 
sweetly.     "  Did  you  come  in  to  buy  something?  " 

Ambry  was  recklessly  on  the  point  of  telling  her  what 
he  had  come  in  for,  but  a  certain  cool  self-possession 
in  her  whole  dainty  person  restrained  him.  She  was 
maddeningly  waiting  for  him  to  go  on. 

He  thought  desperately  of  the  babies  and  the  cats, 
but  he  knew  that  they  had  their  daily  supply  which  it 
would  be  asinine  to  augment.  He  swore  to  himself 
that  he  wouldn't  go  out  of  that  shop  carrying  anything 
in  a  paper  bag,  so  the  only  refuge  was  that  of  mild 
insanity. 

"  No,  I  didn't  come  in  to  buy  anything,"  he  said  with 
decision. 

"  He  looks  as  if  he'd  like  to  shake  me,"  thought  Bina, 
"  and  when  his  eyes  have  that  odd  glare  in  them  he  is 
certainly  very  striking,  but  just  the  least  bit  alarming." 
Before  she  had  finished  saying  this  to  herself,  the  mag- 
nificent subject  of  her  commentary  had  bowed  to  her, 
abruptly  clapped  his  hat  upon  his  head,  and  left  the 
shop. 

She  wheeled  around  on  Mrs.  Edmonton  and  Quin, 
with  the  gesture  of  one  saying,  "  There  you  have  your 
Ambry.     Take  him  or  leave  him !  " 

"  Who  is  he?  "  inquired  Gita — "  that  very  beautiful 
but  angry  young  man." 

"  He  was  at  Oxford  with  your  son.  He  is  Sir  Ambry 
Nunholme,  who,   for   reasons  best  known   to   himself, 


260  THE  IMMORTAL  GYMNASTS 

seems  to  be  on  a  mysterious  visit  to  our  humble  neigh- 
bourhood, incog,  as  Mr.  Holmes." 

"  Good  heavens  !  "  cried  Gita.  "  Not  Ambry  Nun- 
holme!  Did  Anie  see  him?  She  was  here  with  us, 
wasn't  she?  " 

"  We  were  at  the  window  together,"  answered  Quin. 
"  She  was  behind  me.  Fancied  it  was  a  customer,  I 
imagine,  and  vanished  delicately  into  the  background. 
Will  you  go  to  her,  Bina,  while  I  help  Mrs.  Edmonton 
into  her  cloak?  " 

Quin  swept  up  the  billowy  garment  from  an  adjacent 
chair,  while  outside  the  motor  scuffled  and  screamed 
like  a  beaten  child  under  the  skilful  ministrations  of 
the  invaluable  Peters. 

Two  minutes  before  Varian  had  ascended  into  heaven, 
and  the  manner  of  it  was  this. 

It  seems  that  Panta  had  bustled  upstairs  to  dig  out 
his  copy  of  Goldoni's  "  Memoirs  "  to  show  Varian  an 
amusing  passage  that  his  talk  with  Mrs.  Edmonton 
had  recalled.  The  boy  was  alone  in  the  twilight  room, 
his  forehead  still  against  the  window-pane,  but  his  mind 
was  elsewhere.  Before  his  imaginative,  inner  sight,  the 
Italian  landscape  lay  swimming  in  the  burning  sun,  the 
ivy  stirred  in  the  hot,  dry  breeze,  the  heavy,  delicious 
odour  of  orange  flowers  and  jasmine  assaulted  his 
somnolent  sense.  London  and  the  room-back-of-the- 
shop  had  lost  him  for  the  moment,  held  only  his  agree- 
able, well-groomed  exterior,  while  the  better  part  of  him 
was  swinging  to  an  eighteenth-century  air,  a  trifle  thin 
and  faded,  but  with  a  cracked  sweetness  all  its  own. 

He  was,  however,  hurled  back  to  Middlesex,  exquisitely 
dizzy,  to  feel  Anie's  body  under  his  hands,  her  fingers 


THE  IMMORTAL  GYMNASTS  261 

trying  to  clutch  him  about  the  waist,  so  that  she  might 
press  herself  against  him,  crushing  her  proud  little  ruff, 
her  white  cheek  on  his  breast.  Was  he  quite  mad?  What 
had  happened?  But  why  ask?  He  had  his  life  in  his 
arms  at  last,  and  he  held  her  head  to  him  and  kissed  Tier 
as  he  had  always  meant  to  some  day.  It  was  a  delirious 
finish  to  their  simple  tea-party.  What  wild  impulse  had 
pitched  her  shaking  into  his  arms  was  something  to 
inquire  into  later — oh,  much  later.  It  was  enough,  at 
present,  to  hold  her  there  where  she  belonged,  trembling 
himself,  to  be  sure,  almost  as  much  as  she  did.  Good 
heavens,  what  sweetness !  Those  big,  wet  eyes,  those 
pale,  soft  cheeks.  .  .  . 

"  O  Varian,"  the  poor  child  almost  whimpered.  "  Do 
keep  me  if  you  want  me.    Do  you?" 

Why  ask?  Why  answer?  Only  a  tightening  of  those 
safe  arms. 

"  When  I  saw  Ambry  in  front  of  me,  I  thought  of 
nothing  but  to  run  to  you.  I  have  a  horror  of  him.  He 
is  hateful  to  me.     How  he  glared  at  me !  " 

"  Good  Lord,  Anie,  have  we  both  gone  off  our  heads  ?  " 
cried  Varian,  holding  her  away  from  him  in  order  to 
think.    "  What  on  earth  is  this  about  Ambry?  " 

"  My  dear,  he  is  in  the  shop  now,"  whispered  Anie, 
looked  darkly  in  that  direction,  "  or  he  was  a  moment 
ago.  He  pounced  in  suddenly  and  we  glared  at  each 
other  like  two  cats.  That  kind  Mr.  Quin  stepped  in 
front  of  me,  and  I  fled  in  here.  I  suppose  Gita  would 
have  helped  me,  but  I  forgot  her.  I  forgot  that  there 
was  anyone  else  in  the  world  but  you.    O  Varian  !  " 

"  Well,  we've  settled  things  now,  my  child,"  said 
that  radiant  young  man.    "  You  belong  to  me  for  ever, 


262  THE  IMMORTAL  GYMNASTS 

as  of  course  you  have  from  the  beginning,  only  you 
didn't  know  it  as  I  did.  The  moment  I  met  these  de- 
lightful souls,  the  moment  I  stepped  into  this  good 
brown  room,  I  had  the  extraordinary  feeling  that  some- 
thing rather  tremendous  would  come  of  it,  and — you 
see!" 

He  took  her  hand  to  kiss  it.  This  was  the  moment 
ordained  for  the  re-entrance  of  Panta  from  the  stair- 
way, with  his  ancient  Maestro  Goldoni,  and  of  Bina, 
wide-eyed  and  a  bit  nervous,  from  the  shop.  The  latter 
took  in  the  situation  with  the  machinelike  intuition  of 
her  sex.  So  the  little  thing  had  found  her  proper  mate 
at  last.  No  more  bruising  of  the  wings  in  the  cruel 
clutch  of  predatory  hawks ;  no  more  dipping,  and 
sidling,  and  sulking. 

Anie  flew  to  Bina,  one  pink  blush. 

"Is  Gita  waiting  for  me?  Has  that  horrid  person 
gone  ?  " 

"  Yes,  yes,"  replied  Bina,  patting  the  girl's  hand, 
smiling  her  affectionate  woman's  knowledge  into  the 
wide,  happy  eyes.  "  The  car  is  crying  for  you,  weeping 
blue  fumes  into  the  gutter,  more's  the  pity." 

"  Anie  dear,  bring  Varian.  It  is  desperately  late," 
fluted  Gita's  voice  from  the  doorway. 

Varian,  dizzy  with  joy,  Was  pretending  to  read 
Goldoni,  but  the  old,  thick  type  danced  drunkenly  under 
his  hot  eyes.  He  never  knew  how  he  made  his  adieux 
and  got  himself  and  his  nearest  and  dearest  into  the 
car.  What  a  rattling  good  chap  Quin  was !  There  was 
congratulatory  knowledge  in  that  fine,  final  grip  of 
his.  Ah,  how  the  song  of  the  earth,  the  power  and  the 
beauty  of  it,  sang  in  his  ears  all  the  way  to  Wimbledon ! 


THE  IMMORTAL  GYMNASTS  263 

And  his  little  love  sat  so  still,  never  a  word  out  of  her, 
holding  fast  to  Gita's  kind  hand. 

"  What  on  earth  do  you  suppose  Ambry  came  for, 
Quin  ?  "  asked  Bina,  an  hour  later,  her  face  lifted  to 
his,  as  they  sat  together  on  the  sofa  in  the  last  flicker 
of  the  twilight  amidst  the  happy  ruins  of  their  success- 
ful little  fete.  Panta  was  dozing  quietly  with  Goldoni 
sitting  on  his  waistcoat;  Rug-Pug  had  flitted  away, 
carrying  the  remains  of  the  cocked-hat  sandwiches  in  a 
paper  bag,  and  these  two  were  alone,  alone  and  together 
as  if  they  had  been  holding  hands  on  the  white,  deserted 
strand  of  some  palm-set  coral  isle,  lost  in  the  far 
Pacific. 

"  You,"  replied  Quin  unemotionally. 

"  You?  "  echoed  Bina  foolishly. 

"  You,  you,  you,"  cried  Quin,  mocking  her.  "  You 
asked  what  Ambry  came  for.  That  young  man  is  lonely. 
Gertrude  Johnstone-Ford  is  too  strenuous  a  tonic  for 
him  not  to  crave  a  '  let-down,'  and  the  pretty  little 
thing  in  Countess  Street  struck  him  as  too  good  to  be 
resisted.  Behold  him,  my  child,  in  all  his  glory,  sav- 
agely furious  at  finding  you  otherwise  and  so  stagger- 
ingly (for  him)  engaged.  He  did  us  all  a  neat  turn, 
however,  for,  by  a  healthy  reaction,  he  throws  our  little 
Anie  straight  at  the  good  Varian  who  will  know  how 
to  hold  her  gently  but  firmly,  and  so  cooks  Ambry's 
goose  in  that  direction.  Not  that  he  cares  in  the  least. 
Estelle,  a  shrewd  young  piece,  I  gather,  has  been  clever 
enough  to  irritate  his  every  sense,  so  that  at  this  mo- 
ment he  really  doesn't  know  whether  he  most  desires  to 
kiss  her  or  to  wring  her  neck.  I  received  a  broken,  con- 
fused, hurrying  impression  of  anger,  of  impatience,  al- 


364  THE  IMMORTAL  GYMNASTS 

most  of  pain.  He  has  his  good  points,  this  triumphing 
youth,  and  they  show  clearest  in  his  least  triumphant 
moments.  He  is  a  spoiled  boy  who  may  surprise  us  all 
some  day,  if  the  right  woman  manages  him.  I  rather 
think  Estelle  may  take  on  that  billet.  She  is  as  proud 
and  as  obstinate  as  he,  but  with  an  incomparably 
sturdier  will.  She  will  pay  him  off  to  the  last  drop  for 
this  Ridges  Street  escapade,  and  then  she'll  open  those 
long,  strong,  white  arms  of  hers  and  take  him  in.  I 
must  stroll  down  to  Ridges  Street  some  day,  and  regis- 
ter its  particular  gamut.  How  the  pampered  Ambry 
stands  it  after  Wilton  Place  is  a  mystery.  Of  course 
he  sucks  the  sustaining  juices  of  his  pigheadedness,  and 
Estelle's  prematurely  proprietary  airs  evidently  fright- 
ened him  not  a  little." 

So  they  sat  on  in  the  silvery,  mysterious  dark,  the 
evening  air  in  the  shadowy  curtains,  the  distant  torrent 
of  the  encompassing  streets  breaking,  far  away,  on  their 
island  shore.  The  humming  in  their  ears,  the  quick, 
full  throb  of  healthy  pulses,  the  languor  that  holds  them 
to  their  seat  one  moment,  the  flashes  of  vigour  that,  the 
next,  would  send  the  old  walls  spinning,  would  carry 
them  out  into  the  wind  and  the  darkness,  are  but  signs 
of  that  withdrawal  of  the  cloud-current  before  the  earth- 
bound  waves  that  are  mounting  ever  higher  and  higher. 
Gently  and  softly  though  they  mount,  they  will  pres- 
ently sweep  across  the  lips,  will  drown  the  eyes,  and 
wash  over  the  forehead  and  hair,  only  to  retreat,  their 
work  being  done,  leaving  behind  them  a  new  heaven  and 
a  new  earth,  and  the  man  and  the  woman  alone  in  the 
midst,  gazing  at  one  another,  their  cloud-crown  gone 
for  ever. 


CHAPTER  EIGHTEEN 

A  MBRY  stalked  down  Countess  Street  in  a  fury 
/■A  with  himself  and  the  world.  What  an  abject 
ass  he  had  been  to  try  to  dangle  about  that 
pretty  little  woman !  She  was  a  cool  one,  and  wouldn't 
have  minced  matters  with  Gertrude  when  next  she  saw 
her.  How  the  deuce  the  Edmontons  were  so  thick  there 
was  too  much  for  him.  It  seemed  a  thousand  years 
since  he  had  seen  Anie.  He'd  never  forget  as  long  as 
he  lived  that  queer  little  foreign  sachet  that  used  to 
hang  around  the  sitting-room  in  Gordon  Square.  He 
supposed  it  might  be  awkward  marrying  Estelle — yes, 
it  had  come  to  that.  He  bit  the  word  between  his  teeth. 
He'd  marry  her,  confound  her,  and  then  perhaps  he'd 
have  a  little  peace  of  mind.  Just  the  same,  as  he  said 
before,  it  would  be  awkward  having  Anie  for  a  sister- 
in-law.  Good  Lord !  but  it  couldn't  be  helped.  He  would 
jolly  well  not  see  much  of  the  family.  Estelle  would 
have  to  live  at  Appleton,  whether  she  liked  it  or  not. 
There'd  be  no  more  nonsense  once  she  was  his  wife. 
She'd  shake  down  he  supposed,  especially  as  there  was 
rattling  good  hunting.  She  never  looked  better  than 
on  a  horse.  But  not  a  word  out  of  the  girl,  and  it 
would  be  three  weeks  to-morrow  that  he  had  sent  her 
that  telegram.  Dodgson  was  for  ever  forwarding  rotten 
drivel  from  half  the  people  he  had  ever  known,  but 
nothing,  not  a  word,  not  a  line,  from  Belgrave  Square. 
He  knew  from  the  Morning  Post  that  they  were  still 

265 


2.66  THE  IMMORTAL  GYMNASTS 

in  town  and  that  they  were  going  about  to  all  the  late 
dances  and  scratch  dinners  of  the  expiring  season.  He 
must  manage  to  hear  from  her  before  Goodwood,  even 
if  he  had  to  put  his  pride  in  his  pocket  and  trust  to  his 
natural  swagger  to  carry  him  through.  His  mother 
thought  him  at  Aix — why,  heaven  and  she  alone  knew — 
so  perhaps  that  was  the  tale  that  was  going  around. 
He  didn't  remember  whether  Lady  Cassock  took  a  cure 
or  not.  She  certainly  ought  to,  she  was  getting  so 
beastly  fat.  If  she  did,  he'd  go  along  and  have  it  out 
with  Estelle.  He  would  insist  upon  marrying  in  Sep- 
tember, without  a  lot  of  silly  fuss  about  clothes.  No 
one  would  be  in  town  then,  and  they  could  get  it  over 
decently.  If  Lady  Cassock  kicked,  he  rather  imagined 
Estelle  could  manage  her.  By  Jove,  Estelle  had  cer- 
tainly played  him  rather  well.  Ambry  moved  those 
splendid  shoulders  of  his,  irritatingly  conscious  of  the 
yoke.  Well,  she  was  worth  it.  No  one  had  ever  got 
him  so  far  before.  He  dispassionately  admired  her 
skill,  itching,  meanwhile,  to  break  every  bone  in  her 
fascinating  young  body. 

"  I'll  go  to  the  office  and  pitch  in  a  letter  now,"  he 
decided.  "  If  I  crawl,  it  will  touch  her.  If  she  can 
manage  Aix,  I'll  cross  with  them.  I  wonder  how  it  will 
seem  to  have  Dodgson  again.  If  I  wasn't  so  con- 
foundedly sorry  for  Gertrude  I'd  cut  Ridges  Street  to- 
night." 

The  tall,  resplendent  figure  in  the  grey  flannels  con- 
tinued to  make  its  triumphant  progress  through  the 
nauseatingly  familiar  streets  and  alleys  of  the  sordid 
neighbourhood,  gazed  upon  idly,  admiringly,  or  viciously 
by  its  female  population. 


THE  IMMORTAL  GYMNASTS  267 

The  three  weeks  of  his  voluntary  exile  had  brought 
him  a  number  of  novel  impressions,  several  of  which 
were  destined  to  linger  with  him  to  his  permanent  im- 
provement. Some  had  been  received  in  the  dreary,  chilly, 
non-committal,  utilitarian  office  of  Neighbourhood  House 
where  he  worked  each  morning,  at  an  unearthly  early 
hour,  over  a  pile  of  mixed  communications,  fabricating 
such  engaging  answers  to  certain  correspondents  that 
they  were  surprised  into  sending  unexpectedly  large 
cheques  for  the  support  of  the  cause,  a  regrettable  im- 
pulse that  they  not  infrequently  deplored.  If  Ambry 
could  thus  wing  his  words,  what  was  not  the  effect  of 
his  person?  The  pretty  young  librarian  lured  him  into 
one  of  her  story-telling  evenings,  and,  under  the  spur 
of  the  villainous  youngsters,  sharp  as  knives,  who 
swamped  the  desks  and  platform  and  clamoured  for 
something  more  exciting  than  Maeterlinck,  he  presently 
found  himself,  a  hand  in  the  filthy  rag  that  served  the 
ringleader  for  collar,  launched  into  a  big  game  story, 
a  perilous  hippopotamus  drive  in  the  Congo  that  a  chap 
he  knew  had  died  in,  to  such  good  purpose  that  before 
the  last  monster  had  fallen  he  had  beaten  his  grimy 
audience  to  their  knees.  Thereafter,  they  shouted  for 
more,  seduced  as  much  by  the  unanalyzed  charm  of  his 
appearance  as  by  his  corking  yarns.  The  simple  Ambry 
was  more  flattered  than  he  had  ever  been  before 
in  his  life.  Gertrude  teased  him,  and  the  librarian 
smiled. 

John's  Greek  classes,  on  the  contrary,  made  him  un- 
easy. The  scheme  was  so  patently  extravagant.  What 
could  those  loafers  ever  do  on  Parnassus?  Why  the 
deuce  they  pretended  to  learn  at  all  was  a  puzzle  to 


268  THE  IMMORTAL  GYMNASTS 

him,  until  he  found  out  by  accident  that  they  succeeded, 
from  time  to  time,  in  worming  small  sums  out  of  John- 
stone-Ford. To  sit  in  a  coolish  room  for  an  hour  of 
an  evening,  to  pretend  to  follow  the  crazy  signs  the 
man  with  the  bulging  forehead  made  upon  the  black- 
board, with  the  prospect  of  a  shilling  or  two  to  jingle 
together  in  your  pocket,  was  sufficient  bait  for  the  half- 
dozen  semi-criminal  vagrants  who  formed  the  beginner's 
class  in  poor  Ford's  fantastic  Academia.  That  John 
couldn't  see  how  he  was  being  duped,  that  he  could 
continue,  night  after  night,  to  deploy  all  his  science  of 
Oxford  tutor  in  the  service  of  his  ragged,  half-insolent 
legion,  distressed  Ambry  greatly.  After  his  first  ex- 
perience as  an  auditor,  he  had  yearned  to  pitch  every 
man  jack  of  them  out  into  the  road,  but  Ford  at  his 
blackboard,  eagerly  working  out  his  painstaking  theories 
on  the  philosophy  of  language,  was  quite  unconscious 
of  the  pitiful  figure  he  was  cutting. 

Ambry  had  got  Gertrude's  ear  in  secret,  but,  while 
she  agreed  with  him,  she  admitted  that  she  was  afraid 
to  say  anything  to  John.  Fixing  Ambry  with  her  large, 
troubled,  near-sighted  eyes,  her  restless  hands  busy  with 
a  beaded  bag  she  was  in  the  habit  of  carrying,  poor 
Gertrude  had  confessed  that  anything,  no  matter  how 
foolish,  that  occupied  her  brother's  mind  was  just  so 
much  to  the  good. 

"  Even  if  the  poor  dear  does  make  himself  ridiculous 
with  his  Greek — how  in  heaven's  name  could  it  be 
otherwise  in  this  abandoned  neighbourhood? — why,  that 
means  just  so  many  hours  when  his  brain  works  quietly, 
almost  mechanically,  in  the  old,  well-loved  Oxford 
groove.    It  rests  him,  I  am  sure.    In  reality,  he  is  hardly 


THE  IMMORTAL  GYMNASTS  269 

conscious  of  those  wretches  sitting  there  in  front  of 
him.  He  is  far  off  in  some  pleasant  dream,  by  the  banks 
of  the  Ilyssus,  perhaps,  teaching  their  beloved  tongue 
to  quick-glancing  young  Greeks — Plato's  disciples,  no 
more  and  no  less.  So  we  must  leave  it  alone,  Ambry. 
I  feel  that  it  will  be  best.  You  are  a  dear  boy  to  confide 
in  me.  I  don't  know  how  I  should  have  got  through 
these  weeks  without  you.  Thank  you."  Gertrude  had 
put  out  her  hand  frankly,  not  caring  that  she  showed 
how  much  she  was  moved. 

All  this  floated  through  his  mind  this  afternoon,  as, 
long  after  teatime,  he  let  himself  into  their  rooms. 
There  he  found  Gertrude  rambling  about. 

"  Where  on  earth  have  you  been?  "  she  cried,  "  and 
where  did  you  have  your  tea  ?  " 

There  was  certainly  more  of  the  mother  in  her  maiden 
look  than  Ambry  had  ever  surprised  on  the  face  of 
the  good  lady  who  actually  stood  to  him  in  that  re- 
lation. 

"  Oh,  I  had  a  beastly  cup  in  a  forsaken  little  bun- 
shop  in  Pimlico.  By  the  way,  on  my  homeward  route  I 
passed  the  castle  of  the  enchanted  dairymaid.  Do  you 
remember  the  day  you  took  me  there,  and  we  bore  away 
a  pot  of  cream  to  gorge  ourselves  withal?  " 

"  Of  course  I  do.  Why  didn't  you  stop  and  have  a 
chat  with  the  little  lady?  " 

Innocent  Gertrude,  did  she  but  know !  Ambry  could 
see  himself  sufficiently  in  perspective  to  smile  when  he 
recalled  to  mind  the  acid-sweetness  of  his  reception,  his 
panic  at  encountering  Anie,  his  rage  at  his  own  fatuity 
in  going  into  the  place  at  all.  It  was,  of  course,  Es- 
telle's  fault  for  cutting  him  loose.    It  naturally  escaped 


270  THE  IMMORTAL  GYMNASTS 

his  august  mind  that  his  had  been  the  hand  to  slip  those 
silken  moorings. 

Ford  presently  came  in  and  he  and  Ambry  smoked, 
talking  perfunctorily  of  neighbourhood  affairs  until  din- 
ner was  served.  The  meal  over,  Jenny  removed  the 
cloth  and  placed  on  the  ancient  round  table  the 
cigarettes  and  the  modest  liqueur.  All  three  were  now 
pleasantly  conscious  in  their  different  ways  of  that 
laisser-faire  that  blessedly  takes  possession  of  us  at  the 
end  of  a  strenuous  day.  They  dawdled  over  their  smoke ; 
Gertrude  permitted  herself  two  elbows  on  the  table,  and 
from  John's  face  the  veil  of  nervous  exhaustion  had 
been  brushed  away  or  had  become  more  transparently 
impalpable.  The  wandering  air  of  the  warm  July 
night  puffed  its  vagrant  invitation  to  the  road  into  the 
unlighted  room.  Ambry,  that  representative  of  youth, 
was  naturally  the  first  to  catch  the  message. 

"  Why  don't  we  stretch  our  legs  a  bit  to-night  ?  "  he 
suggested,  after  John  had  finished  a  rather  dreary  anec- 
dote of  a  certain  busybodyish  Vice-Chancellor  of  none 
too  fragrant  memory. 

"  Let  us  go  for  a  walk,"  repeated  Ambry,  looking 
from  one  to  the  other  of  his  companions.  "  It  is  our 
duty  to  celebrate  the  fact  that  we  are  not  stewing  at 
Neighbourhood  House.  Come  out  and  breathe.  Why 
not  a  taxi?  " 

"  Oh,  no,"  said  Gertrude,  "  they  jiggle  one  so.  To 
walk  will  do  all  of  us  good.  We  can  cut  up  into  some 
quiet  streets  and  squares.     I'll  fetch  my  hat." 

They  bore  away  from  Ridges  Street,  cutting  up 
obliquely  toward  Eaton  Place.  They  walked  abreast, 
Gertrude  between  the  two  men.    Their  slum  behind  them, 


THE  IMMORTAL  GYMNASTS  £71 

they  sniffed  with  avidity  the  fresher  air  blown  across 
the  tall  elms  and  planes  of  the  squares.  The  large, 
tremulous  leaves  threw  their  shadowy  reproductions,  as 
intensely  black  as  Japanese  ink,  across  the  pavement 
under  the  lamps  by  the  railings.  You  seemingly  en- 
tangled your  feet  in  these  bizarre,  moving  patterns,  but* 
as  though  you  trod  upon  the  waters,  you  passed  on, 
leaving  no  mark  behind. 

"  By  the  way,  my  dear  boy,"  said  Johnstone-Ford, 
"  do  you  ever  see  young  Varian  Edmonton  these  days  ? 
They  tell  me  he  is  by  way  of  being  an  art  critic — re- 
markable thing  to  go  in  for  in  cold  blood — but  I  recol- 
lect that  he  had  a  very  pretty  style." 

"  How  odd  that  you  should  speak  of  him,  John,  just 
at  this  moment,"  interrupted  Gertrude.  "  His  mother, 
don't  you  remember,  sends  in  milk  from  Wimbledon  to 
my  cats  and  babies,  and " 

"  I  caught  a  glimpse  of  her  this  afternoon  in  the 
dairy,"  put  in  Ambry,  feeling  it  safer  to  make  a  clean 
breast  of  it.  "  She  didn't  see  me.  I  suppose  Varian 
was  there  somewhere,  too.  There  was  a  girl  I  happen 
to  know  with  them.  Rather  odd  my  running  in  on  a 
party,  wasn't  it?  Do  the  Edmontons  know  these 
Pantas?  It  seemed  a  very  social  affair.  The  girl  is 
a  cousin  of  Varian's." 

Gertrude  was  conscious  of  a  small  spasm  of  surprise 
that  Ambry  had  not  mentioned  all  this  before,  when  he 
first  spoke  of  having  dropped  in  on  the  dairymaid. 
Who  was  the  girl?  she  wondered.  Someone  he  cared 
for,  and  was  vexed  at?  Ah,  why  couldn't  life  run 
smoothly?  Not  even  for  him,  this  magnificent  youth, 
were    the   bumps    and    the    pin-pricks    spared.      Poor 


272  THE  IMMORTAL  GYMNASTS 

Gertrude  felt  so  raw  herself  that  she  yearned  after  the 
certitude  of  blissful,  fireside  pictures,  of  happy  hemes 
and  roly-poly  children.  Surely  they  existed  somewhere 
in  spite  of  slums  and  philanthropy. 

"  I'm  awfully  afraid,  don't  you  know,"  began  Ambry, 
fishing  for  words,  "  that  I  shall  have  to  be  cutting  it 
soon.  Didn't  I  understand  from  Gertrude  that  you'll 
be  getting  off  yourselves  for  a  holiday  in  a  week  or  so  ? 
I  shall  hate  to  leave  you  in  the  lurch,  but,  as  a  matter 
of  fact,  I've  had  a  letter  "  (our  youth  was  disingenu- 
ous; he  meant  he  had  sent  one),  "  that  makes  it  rather 
necessary  for  me  to  go  to  the  Continent,  to  Aix. 
I've  cut  everything  rather  recklessly,  but  I  can't  cut 
this." 

Gertrude  squeezed  his  arm  sympathetically,  while 
Ford  took  his  speech  in  excellent  part.  John  was  so 
nervously  jerky  these  days,  you  never  knew  what  you 
were  in  for. 

"  My  dear  fellow,"  he  began,  "  neither  Gertrude  nor 
I  can  ever  be  sufficiently  grateful  for  what  you  have 
pulled  us  through  these  last  few  weeks.  Of  course,  you 
must  go  back  and  pick  up  your  life  after  this  little 
plunge.  August  would  be  quite  too  impossible  for  you 
in  town.  Someone  who  brings  along  his  own  assistant 
will  relieve  me  next  week,  and  Gertrude  and  I  will  get 
rest  and  air  in  a  little  forsaken  cove  we  know  of  on  the 
Cornish  coast.  I  only  wish  we  could  keep  you  with  us 
indefinitely.  Your  presence  has  meant  more  than  I  can 
say.  I  am  less  nervous  when  I  know  that  you  are  about. 
We  mustn't  lose  sight  of  each  other  again.  You  old 
boys  of  mine  bring  back  Oxford  days  when,  for  me,  this 
ridiculous  'brain  fag,'  as  I  have  heard  it  called,  was 


THE  IMMORTAL  GYMNASTS  273 

unknown  and  unsuspected.  When  we  meet  again  in  the 
autumn,  we  must  look  Edmonton  up." 

Gertrude  perceived  clairvoyantly  that  this  suggestion 
left  Ambry  cold.  What  was  there  behind  it  ?  The  girl- 
cousin  stopping  at  Wimbledon  whom  Ambry  had  known  ? 

"  When  do  you  think  of  going?  "  she  heard  John 
say.  f 

"  Oh,  in  two  or  three  days.  Would  that  inconvenience 
you?  I  think  I  can  make  a  clean  sweep  of  my  desk  in 
that  time.    When  does  the  locum  tenens  appear?  " 

"  Let  me  see.  Do  you  recollect  the  exact  date, 
Gertrude?" 

"  This  is  the  29th,"  she  counted  on  her  fingers. 
"  They  are  due  August  3,  and  I  plan  to  rush  off  our- 
selves the  afternoon  of  the  very  day.  We  go  into 
lodgings,  and  put  Jenny  on  board  wages.  Oh,  to  think 
of  breathing  the  salt  air  once  more,  clean  of  petrol! 
With  sand  in  our  eyes  and  hair,  the  skin  peeled  off 
our  noses,  and  with  the  appetites  of  Trojans,  we  shall 
give  ourselves  up  to  every  wandering  breeze  that  blows 
and  become  happy  tramps,  with  not  a  thought  in  our 
heads  for  a  month  on  end  that  is  not  concerned  with 
our  tummies.  Heaven  help  our  landlady,  poor,  mis- 
guided woman,  to  take  such  wastrels  in !  " 

Ambry  laughed.  He  loved  Gertrude  because  she  was 
so  game. 

"  Then  I  shall  arrange  to  flee  when  you  do,  not  an 
hour  before,"  he  said,  smiling  down  at  what  he  could 
see  of  her  eyes  under  that  grey,  reckless,  tossed-about 
fringe. 

They  had  turned  aside  into  Eccleston  Square  because 
it  looked  broad  and  deserted. 


274  THE  IMMORTAL  GYMNASTS    

"Where  are  we?"  suddenly  asked  John,  speaking 
abruptly  after  some  quarter  of  an  hour's  silence.  They 
knew  at  once  by  his  face  and  his  tone  that  the  good 
time  was  over  and  that  he  had  dropped  back  into  the 
shadows. 

"  Come  on,  straight  down  Belgrave  Road  till  we  reach 
St.  George's  Square,"  put  in  Gertrude,  taking  her 
brother's  arm.  "  There  we  can  walk  along  the  river 
toward  Chelsea  before  we  ptfck  up  a  bus." 

As  they  came  abreast  of  the  dark,  leafy  pool  that  is 
Warwick  Square,  they  stepped  for  an  instant  into  the 
long,  black  shadow  of  a  man  who  had  crossed  the  road 
from  the  direction  of  Denbigh  Street.  That  was  all — 
a  simple  incident  of  no  importance — and  they  continued 
on  their  way.  But  the  man,  turning  his  head,  took  in 
the  three  with  a  swift  look  of  recognition  as  little  sus- 
pected by  them  as  the  fact  that  he  held  lightly,  in  that 
fine  hand  of  his,  the  key  to  their  subtlest  mental  proc- 
esses, to  tick  them  off,  if  so  he  chose,  with  all  the  assur- 
ance of  an  expert  telegrapher.  But  Quin  was  fatigued 
to-night,  and  he  received  from  their  vibrations  little 
beyond  a  vague  sensation  of  fret  and  worry  and  pain 
from  Gertrude ;  of  ardour  and  triumph  and  gratification, 
still  reined  in  but  straining  at  the  leash,  from  Ambry, 
his  thoughts  busy  with  Estelle ;  of  hurrying  irritation, 
of  intense  nervous  exasperation,  all  very  much  blurred, 
from  Johnstone-Ford. 

Quin  smiled  as  he  noted  the  chastened  mien  of  the 
Beautiful  Youth,  wandering  about  an  unfashionable 
quarter  of  London,  at  night,  in  worn  but  still  serviceable 
morning  togs,  far  from  the  cherishing  care  of  the  more 
than  maternal  Dodgson.  How  much  longer  could  he  keep 


THE  IMMORTAL  GYMNASTS  275 

it  up?  Judging  from  the  happy  insolence  of  his  mind 
at  this  moment  he  had  delivered  an  ultimatum,  thinly 
disguised  as  a  surrender,  to  the  tantalizing  Estelle,  and 
the  beginning  of  the  week  would  doubtless  see  them 
together  at  Cowes  or  on  the  Continent,  devouring  one 
another,  their  only  too  natural  recriminations  swallowed 
up  in  the  intoxicating  joy  of  recovery  and  possession. 
Little  Anie,  too,  had  set  sail  once  more  on  the  heady, 
foamy  current,  but  this  time  the  shallop  of  her  tender 
soul  was  to  be  manned  by  one  who  would  never  drop 
the  rudder  till  they  rode  at  anchor  in  the  sunrise,  both 
beyond  the  bar. 

Ah,  the  hot,  breathless  London  night  was  sweet,  as 
sweet  to  Quin  as  a  hawthorn  thicket  by  the  cool,  tranquil 
Thames  where  Arnold's  nightingale  still  sings  to  his 
lovers — sweet  and  fair  because  Bina  was  hidden  away 
in  it,  in  this  tired  London,  turning  its  creaking  bones, 
its  dull,  heavy,  drowsy,  aching  old  body  in  the  stifling 
summer  night ;  because  Bina  would  be  waiting  for  him 
in  the  back  room  with  only  a  pair  of  candles  lighted. 
And  he  would  go  in,  and  she  would  smile  and  he 
kind.  When  would  she  be  kinder?  Quin  asked  himself 
with  a  spasm  of  longing.  When  he  dared  to  demand  it 
of  her,  perhaps.  Pshaw,  he  mustn't  forget  that  it  was 
that  wretched  white  Pierrot  who  was  the  unhappy,  the 
deserted  one — never  Harlequin,  who,  with  a  final  splen- 
did pirouette,  always  carried  off  the  little  lady  in  those 
long,  strong,  muscular  arms  of  his.  Quin  slid  his  hands 
in  his  pockets,  philosophically  amused  at  the  turn  of 
his  thoughts.  It  was  the  weather;  it  was  Ambry  and 
his  Estelle;  it  was  Varian  and  his  Anie.  This  was  the 
season  for  the  elemental  longing  of  Jack  for  his  Jill, 


276  THE  IMMORTAL  GYMNASTS 

and  he,  cloud-capped  as  he  had  believed  himself  to  be, 
felt  his  airy  empire  dissolving  beneath  his  feet,  his  ten 
toes  clinging,  like  those  of  any  primeval  ape,  to  the 
good,  fat,  solid,  brown  earth. 


CHAPTER  NINETEEN 

MEANWHILE  the  three  had  mounted  a  bus  that 
was  to  carry  them  along  the  King's  Road, 
Ambry  pleading  for  a  taxi,  but  being  over- 
borne by  an  economical  Gertrude.  Besides,  it  wouldn't 
be  suitable  to  wake  the  echoes  of  Ridges  Street  thus 
opulently. 

"  Leave  the  confounded  brute  at  the  corner,  then," 
suggested  Ambry,  but  even  poor  John  was  too  inert  to 
back  him  up.  They  found  places  on  top,  but  not  to- 
gether, and,  with  his  grey-flannelled  knees  almost  in  his 
mouth,  the  sausagelike  arm  of  a  worthy  matron  along 
his  ribs,  her  weedy  feather  tickling  his  ear,  her  rapier 
of  a  hatpin  menacing  his  right  eye,  our  young  gentle- 
man, by  a  prodigious  effort  of  will,  forgot  the  human 
wedge  he  was  squeezed  against,  forgot  the  animated 
mechanism  he  was  atop  of,  forgot  even  his  cherished 
self  in  the  interests  of  his  thought  of  Estelle.  She 
would  have  his  letter  the  first  thing  in  the  morning. 
They  would  send  it  up  with  her  tea.  Where  was  she 
singing  or  dancing  to-night?  Good  heavens!  What  if 
he  had  lost  her  by  his  rotten  philandering?  What  if 
they  had  met  someone  Lady  Cassock  would  be  backing? 
Oh,  certainly  not  now  at  the  tail  end  of  the  season. 
Good  catches  were  never  made  in  such  shallow  water. 
No,  Estelle  was  as  hard  as  nails.  He'd  set  her  up 
against  her  mother.  She  was  hard,  but  he  had  hit  her 
hard.   He  knew  that.   She'd  forgive  him.   She  must.   He 

277 


378  THE  IMMORTAL  GYMNASTS 

had  been  abject  enough  in  his  letter,  he  whose  role  was 
never  to  crawl.  That  would  surprise  her;  would  carry 
her  off  her  feet  a  bit.  That  was  all  he  wanted — that 
and  the  chance  to  show  her  how  steady  he  would  hold 
her,  how  steady  and  how  close  for  evermore.  The  mem- 
ory of  her  was  in  his  blood.  He  had  jibbed ;  he  had  been 
afraid  of  her,  afraid  for  his  threatened  liberty.  Good 
Lord,  what  a  fool !  It  had  taken  Ridges  Street  to  teach 
him  that  he  wanted  her  more  than  anything  else  in  the 
world,  and  that  he'd  go  on  wanting  her  till  he  died. 
He  had  come  thus  far  along  the  painful,  narrow  road. 
The  path  was  rough,  but  salutary ;  you  breathed  good 
air  on  these  heath-covered,  wind-swept  hills.  As  you 
walked  there,  feeling  your  way,  you  sniffed  the  purify- 
ing salt,  you  knew  that  the  sea  lay  below,  shimmering 
behind  the  last  thrust  shoulder  of  the  downs.  All  the 
strange  little  lifeboats  would  be  tugging  at  their  moor- 
ings, and  you,  with  your  own  captured  girl  under  your 
arm,  would  presently  be  lifting  her  into  the  craft  that 
was  yours — that  had  been  waiting  for  you  here  from 
the  beginning,  only  somehow  you  had  missed  the  way  to 
it  before.  Estelle  was  almost  as  tall  as  he.  He  liked  her 
so,  her  big  eyes  gazing  or  blazing  into  his  with  their 
level  beam. 

The  catalogue  of  all  the  other  charming  things  he 
liked  about  Estelle  was  rudely  broken  in  upon  by  the 
suffocating  movements,  the  desperate  manoeuvres  of  the 
worthy  lady  by  his  side.  Arching  one  arm  into  some- 
thing that  might  approximate  a  flying  buttress,  she 
rested  her  not  inconsiderable  weight  upon  Ambry's  ribs, 
while  with  the  other  she  churned  at  the  void,  vainly  seek- 
ing a  disgusting  little  newspaper  packet  that  had  seen 


THE  IMMORTAL  GYMNASTS  279 

fit  to  evade  her  stout,  incompetent  grasp.  Here  Ger- 
trude caught  his  desperate  eye  and  was  moved  to 
compassion.  "  Poor  little  roi  en  exile"  she  thought, 
mothering  the  six  feet  or  so  of  him,  as  was  natural. 
She  clutched  John  and  they  made  a  speedy  and  spectac- 
ular descent,  the  bus  being  well  into  its  stride  and  the 
conductor  rather  vexed. 

Estelle,  after  her  first  hot  rage  at  Ambry,  when  she 
had  so  nearly  flown  to  Wilton  Place  to  squeeze  his  ad- 
dress out  of  Dodgson,  had  set  her  teeth  and  tried  not 
to  think  of  him.  Oh,  she  could  have  pounded  him  with 
her  fists,  if  his  physique  had  been  such  as  to  make  an 
exercise  of  that  kind  worth  while.  He  was  a  cad,  and 
she  had  been  a  fool.  Having  thus  pigeon-holed  what 
their  respective  temperaments  made  of  them,  she  de- 
voted herself  to  raising  such  personal  little  eddies  in  the 
rather  muddy  stream  of  the  dying  season  as  her  beauty 
and  her  vigour  rendered  only  too  easy.  At  such  a  game 
you  never  play  alone,  and  her  chosen  partner  being  an 
exceedingly  good-looking  under-secretary,  or  something 
of  the  kind,  with  a  weak-lunged  wife  poked  away  in 
Africa  for  her  health,  there  was  a  not  inconsiderable 
swell  of  the  sort  of  gossip  that  doesn't  help  on  a  girl's 
chances.  Careful  mothers,  if  there  are  really  any  such 
left,  lingering  on  in  the  shaded  corners,  would  have 
asked  themselves  what  Lady  Cassock  could  be  thinking 
of.  But  the  latter,  having  noted  with  satisfaction  that 
Ambry  had  seen  fit  to  withdraw,  without  having  his 
departure  accelerated  by  her  biting  negative  to  the 
question  that  she  supposed  to  be  hanging  on  his  tongue, 
was,  for  the  moment,  the  season  well  on  the  wane,  occu- 
pied with  nothing  so  much  as  her  own  increasing  bulk. 


280  THE  IMMORTAL  GYMNASTS 

To  have  had  such  a  figure  as  hers  and  to  be  threatened 
with  its  extinction  was  to  approach  to  your  lips  the 
bitterest  cup  the  advancing  years  can  brew  for  a  woman. 
Etta  Cassock,  after  that  last  desperate  interview  with 
her  corsetiere,  knew  the  worst.  It  meant  Germany ;  it 
meant  the  simple  life;  it  meant  exercise;  it  meant  diet 
and  nasty  waters.  She  would  have  defied  any  doctor 
living,  but  she  bowed  that  high  head,  with  its  coiffure 
of  a  decadent  Roman  Empress,  before  the  stern,  black 
bead  eyes  of  Madame  Gontet.     The  blow  had  fallen. 

That  night  they  were  dining  in  Lowndes  Square,  and 
for  the  first  time  Lady  Cassock  became  chillingly  aware 
that  her  younger  daughter  was  somewhat  too  conspicu- 
ously engaged  with  John  Capel,  who  had  the  weak- 
lunged  wife  in  Africa.  He  had  monopolized  her  at 
dinner,  and  was  now  proceeding  to  do  the  same  with  the 
aid  of  a  damask  screen  and  a  foolish  potted  fern  in  a 
remote  corner  of  the  drawing-room.  Girls  were  geese. 
Anie  certainly  was  one,  but  she  had  supposed  Estelle 
to  be  not  devoid  of  the  kind  of  intelligence  London 
demands  for  success,  and  here  she  was,  sneaking  behind 
a  palm  with  a  perfectly  negligible  Capel,  as  though  she 
were  a  housemaid  flirting  with  the  second  footman. 
Good  heavens,  what  were  well-bred  girls  coming  to! 
If  worry  made  one  thin  she  would  be  perfectly  safe  in 
cutting  Germany. 

Meditating  thus,  she  rustled  down  upon  her  daughter, 
fixing  Capel,  whose  mother  she  had  known  as  a  girl, 
with  a  freezing  stare  through  her  lorgnon. 

"  Really,  Jack,  you  are  not  quite  nice,  you  know. 
No,  don't  get  angry.  We  understand  each  other  per- 
fectly.    By   the  way,  what  news  do  you  have  from 


THE  IMMORTAL  GYMNASTS  281 

Milly?  You  are  joining  her  at  the  recess,  I  suppose? 
Why  the  poor  child  doesn't  stew  down  there  at  this 
season,  I  can't  imagine.  Doctors  are  such  arbitrary 
brutes.  Mine  is  packing  me  off  to  Germany  at  once. 
We  are  going  on  now.  Give  my  love  to  Milly  when 
you  see  the  dear  girl.  Are  you  coming,  Estelle?  We 
have  to  pick  up  Mrs.  Portarlington," — and,  feeling 
quite  proud  of  herself,  Etta  Cassock  turned  her  back  on 
her  quenched  companions.  Not  so  quenched,  however, 
that  the  fire  in  John  Capel's  eyes  did  not  try  to  draw  an 
answering  gleam  from  those  proud,  tired  ones  of  Estelle. 
His  lips  on  her  hand,  his  voice  in  her  ear.  What  was  he 
begging  so  for  ?  She  pulled  herself  fretfully  away,  sud- 
denly sick  of  the  whole  business. 

So  they  were  going  to  Germany.  She  had  always 
believed  Ambry  to  be  on  the  Continent.  Ambry !  How 
the  memory  of  the  whole  look  of  him  came  over  her, 
overwhelmingly!  John  Capel  dwindled  to  an  infini- 
tesimal black  smudge  on  the  surface  of  a  London  din- 
ner-party. Poor  man,  he  never  quite  understood  that 
episode.  His  Milly  is  getting  better  and  she  hopes  to 
come  back  this  spring. 

In  the  carriage,  in  the  soft,  warm,  hazy  summer 
darkness,  Estelle  learned  that  they  were  off  to  Germany 
to  take  a  cure. 

"  Why  not  Aix?  "  she  drawled. 

"  No,"  replied  the  Spartan  mother,  "  not  even 
Marienbad.  Oh,  no,  no  place  where  you  might  possibly 
meet  a  friendly  face.  That  is  the  latest  thing — unre- 
lieved boredom,  plus  food  so  simple  that  you  cease  to 
think  of  it  with  anything  but  horror,  sticky  baths,  and 
nasty  water.     There  you  are!     I  confess  I  feel  a  bit 


282  THE  IMMORTAL  GYMNASTS 

sorry  for  you,  Estelle,  but  after  to-night  I  can't  enter- 
tain the  thought  of  leaving  you  behind." 

"  I  don't  want  to  be  left  behind,  mamma,"  said  a 
strangely  subdued  Estelle.  "  I  am  dog-tired.  I'll  try 
the  sticky  baths  and  the  nasty  waters." 

Her  mother  shot  a  sharp  look  at  her,  but  saw  nothing 
unusual  in  the  beautiful  pure  profile  under  the  dusky 
web  of  hair,  outlined  against  the  dim,  grey,  lamp-lit 
atmosphere. 

At  this  moment  Ambry,  with  whom  the  girl's  thoughts 
were  passionately  busy,  was  soundlessly  calling  to  her  in 
his  heart  across  the  feverish  London  night,  while  his 
body  suffered  the  displeasing  promiscuity  peculiar  to 
the  top  of  a  motor-bus.  Over  his  throbbing  eagerness 
swept  the  certainty  that  his  letter,  now  the  plaything  of 
an  unrivalled  postal  system,  would  be  upon  that  cool, 
white  bed  of  hers  in  the  room  in  Belgrave  Square  to- 
morrow morning  for  her  sleepy  fingers  to  tear  apart, 
the  very  first  thing,  before  she  even  looked  at  her  tea. 

He  spent  a  beastly  night  full-length  on  his  long,  slim 
bed  in  his  narrow,  stifling  room.  Every  cat  in  London, 
it  seemed  to  him,  had  chosen  Ridges  Street  for  an 
amorous  rendezvous,  led,  he  suspected,  by  Gertrude's 
pampered  ruffians,  escaped  for  the  time  from  their 
doleful  garden  to  chant  their  plaint  beneath  their 
mistress'  window.  He  raged  with  the  impotent  desire 
to  tear  their  skinny  limbs  asunder,  but  a  leaden,  night- 
mare weight  on  his  head  and  chest  flattened  him  out 
on  his  back  to  pass  from  one  hot,  restless,  confused, 
half -waking  dream  to  another.  The  result  was  as  might 
have  been  expected.  When  the  chilly,  damp  dawn 
brought  its  brief  refreshment,  he  slept  straight  across 


THE  IMMORTAL  GYMNASTS  283 

the  breakfast-hour,  and  Gertrude  wouldn't  have  him 
called.  Therefore,  when  he  finally  made  his  appear- 
ance, exceedingly  contrite,  but  resplendently  fresh  and 
scrubbed,  it  was  to  find  his  hostess  alone  behind  the 
teapot,  keeping  his  toast  hot  for  him  under  a  foolish 
little  blue  flame.  John  had  eaten  and  flown,  certain 
people  of  no  importance  having  to  be  interviewed. 

"  You  are  frightfully  good  to  me,  you  know,  Ger- 
trude," he  remarked,  having  thanked  her  for  his  second 
cup  of  tea.  "  Being  down  here  with  you  and  John,  and 
seeing  what  you  do  for  these  awful  bounders,  has  made 
me  pull  up  a  bit.  I  assure  you  I  am  a  much  more 
serious  person  than  when  you  saw  me  first.  I'm  going 
to  settle  down  and  try  not  to  be  more  of  a  fool  than  I 
can  conveniently  help." 

Gertrude  was  all  sympathy  at  once. 

"  Oh,  do !  "  she  cried.  "  It  is  so  useless  racketing 
about  town  night  and  day.     Tell  me  your  plans  ?  " 

Being  totally  devoid  of  any  save  the  magnificent 
synthesis  of  them  all  represented  by  the  capture  of 
Estelle,  Ambry  contented  himself  with  a  description  of 
Apple  ton. 

"  It's  mine,  of  course,  and  mother  and  Goodrich-Dow 
never  care  to  go  there.  There  isn't  enough  to  keep  it 
up  very  well,  but  if  I  really  showed  that  I  meant  to  stay, 
mother  wouldn't  let  me  starve.  The  hunting  is  ripping, 
and — "  He  was  going  on  to  say  that  Estelle  never 
looked  better  than  on  a  horse,  but  was  afraid,  with  a 
gambler's  superstition  because  he  didn't  yet  know  how 
she  would  take  his  letter.  Jove !  She  had  it  now.  He 
turned  cold  and  stopped  eating  bacon. 

"  What  is  the  house  like  ?  Wouldn't  you  be  lonely 


284  THE  IMMORTAL  GYMNASTS 

down  there  alone  ?  Do  you  care  for  your  neighbours  ?  " 
asked  Gertrude,  not  noticing  his  pause. 

"  Oh,  it's  a  rather  good  house.  Father  did  a  lot  to 
it  when  he  married,  and  some  of  the  stuff  is  rather 
decent,  I  believe.  I  mean  chaps  who  know  say  so.  It  is 
comfortable,  too,  and  the  gardens  used  to  be  pretty.  It 
takes  such  a  pot  to  keep  them  up." 

"  Oh,  well,  if  you  are  off  hunting  all  day,  living  there 
alone,  why  bother?  Flowers  need  more  than  gardeners, 
you  know,  Ambry.     They  need  a  woman." 

Those  kind,  quizzical  eyes  under  the  grey  fringe !  He 
fell  at  once;  in  fact  he  had  been  dying  to  ever  since 
they  began  to  talk. 

"  I  only  hope  to  heaven  there  will  be  a  woman  there, 
Gertrude — at  least  a  girl.  She's  made  me  mad  about 
her,  and  now  it  remains  to  be  seen  what  she'll  do  with 
me.  The  whole  thing  is  hanging.  She  has  my  letter 
this  very  moment.  I  must  kick  my  heels  till  I  hear  from 
her,  but  she  is  the  one  Appleton  and  I  must  have.  She 
rides  like  a  fiend,  but — she'll  make  the  flowers  grow, 
too." 

Ambry's  face  had  never  been  so  expressive. 

Gertrude  got  up  and  put  a  hand  on  his  shoulder. 

"  I  can  see  her  walking  in  that  very  garden  now, 
finger  on  lip,"  she  whispered  smiling. 

He  picked  up  her  other  hand,  kissed  it  gratefully, 
and  then  she  rang  for  Jenny,  and  the  multitudinous 
tasks  of  the  day  pressed  into  the  foreground  of  their 
consciousness  demanding  to  be  grappled  with. 

It  was  warm  and  airless,  with  a  thin  summer  fog  that 
aggravated  the  humidity.  A  busy  morning  at  his  lit- 
tered desk  showed  Ambry  that  he  would  have  to  devote 


THE  IMMORTAL  GYMNASTS  285 

his  afternoon  to  the  same  tedious  billet  if  he  wished  to 
leave  matters  decently  in  order  for  his  successor.  So, 
after  a  snatched  luncheon  with  John,  Gertrude  being 
delayed  at  her  Shelter,  Ambry  sped  back,  hot  and  bored, 
not  daring  to  think  of  a  long  chair  at  his  club  with  a 
longer  glass  against  which  the  ice  clinked.  He  was 
rather  glad,  nevertheless,  that  he  had  something  to  oc- 
cupy him  other  than  those  torturing  conjectures  as  to 
what  Estelle  might,  or  might  not,  be  going  to  do.  He 
actually  skipped  tea,  and  when  he  finally  let  himself  into 
the  house,  hot  and  tired  and  jumpy,  the  twilight,  a  poor, 
wan,  dusty  gold,  was  already  dying  away  in  the  greyish 
shadows  of  the  unlighted  hall. 

He  found  Gertrude,  dead  beat,  flat  on  the  sofa,  and 
they  had  a  tranquil,  soothing  little  chat  before  the  lamp 
was  brought  in.  She,  with  the  deftest  touch,  drew  him 
out  about  Estelle,  and  she  was  presently  in  possession 
of  all  necessary  and  unnecessary  information  in  regard 
to  that  young  lady's  mental  and  physical  charms,  with 
the  lyrical  stress  on  the  latter  as  is  natural  to  the  young 
and  ardent.  Gertrude,  like  a  good  woman,  revelled 
intensely  in  the  romantic,  and  it  was  with  very  tender 
eyes  and  an  inclination  to  see  the  world  couleur  de  rose, 
that  she  took  her  place  at  their  simple  dinner-table, 
smiling  across  at  John's  sallow,  haunted  face,  with 
Ambry  at  her  right  hand.  That  young  man  was  in  a 
badly  suppressed  fidget  because  Estelle  had  not  tele- 
graphed, as  he  had  implored  her  to  do — she  might  have, 
don't  you  know,  confound  her!  She  jolly  well  knew 
he  was  grilling.  She  had  a  deuced  hard  streak  in  her. 
Telegraph?  Not  she!  Then  he  accepted  fish  that  he 
didn't  want,  afraid  of  Gertrude's  all-too-knowing  eye. 


286  THE  IMMORTAL  GYMNASTS 

Coming  back  from  Neighbourhood  House  some  hours 
later,  he  found  the  sitting-room  deserted.  Gertrude  and 
John  were  evidently  abed.  He  threw  himself  heavily 
into  a  chair.  Not  a  word  from  Estelle,  not  a  sign  of 
life  or  love !  Good  Lord !  he  couldn't  stand  much  more 
of  that.  If  crawling  in  the  purlieus  of  Ridges  Street 
wouldn't  do,  then  crawl  he  must  to-morrow  in  the  more 
spacious  expanses  of  Belgrave  Square,  but  hear  from 
her  or  see  her  within  twelve  hours  he  most  assuredly 
would. 

How  long  he  sat  on  in  the  dark,  having  put  out  the 
lamp  for  fear  of  Gertrude,  he  never  knew.  Strange 
shadows  filtered  in  through  the  slowly-moving  curtains, 
wavering  in  the  pale,  diffused  light  from  the  street. 
Star-bright  visions  of  Estelle  arose  within  him — Estelle 
as  she  danced,  or  walked,  or  rode;  Estelle  with  that 
proud  high  head  of  hers,  with  those  deep  eyes  that  found 
and  held  and  sank  into  yours,  as  though  they  would 
never  let  you  go. 

Feeling  that  he  and  sleep  could  have  nothing  to 
say  to  one  another,  Ambry  nevertheless  forced  himself 
into  his  narrow  cell,  more  from  habit  than  anything 
else.  Viciously  striking  one  damp  match  after  another, 
he  eventually  got  a  light,  receiving  at  the  same  time 
what  he  was  thereafter  to  count  as  one  of  the  exquisite 
impressions  of  his  life.  Rain  on  the  dust-choked  plants 
of  summer,  the  thin,  icy  trail  of  a  drug  in  tortured 
veins,  sleep  after  insomnia — the  infinite  refreshment  of 
such  healing  balms  fell  at  once  upon  Ambry's  soul  as 
the  telegram  leaped  brazenly  to  meet  his  eye  from  the 
middle  of  his  bed,  where  Jenny  had  disposed  it  fori 
lack  of  a  table  or  card-rack. 


THE  IMMORTAL  GYMNASTS  287 

He  madly  tore  the  blessed  thing  open,  before  his  in- 
genuous mind  had  a  chance  to  be  wrung  with  the  cruel 
doubts  a  less  impetuous  mortal  would  have  felt  as  to 
whether  the  magic  paper  might  not  be  from,  say,  a 
fellow's  mother.  But  no,  Ambry  had  more  inspired 
faith  than  that,  and  he  was  rewarded  accordingly.  Only 
to  the  darlings  of  the  gods  can  the  simple  word  "  Come," 
especially  if  followed  by  the  modest  initial  "  E,"  be 
fraught  with  such  shattering  ecstasy.  Away  with 
crawling!  Our  young  man  resumed  the  proud  ascend- 
ency of  the  successful  male  before  you  realized  that 
he  had  ever  been  on  the  point  of  dropping  it.  Crawl, 
indeed,  in  those  spacious  expanses  of  Belgrave  Square ! 
To-morrow  would  see,  instead,  all  the  processional  trap- 
pings of  a  happy  and  therefore  beneficent  conqueror. 
The  plaster  portico,  at  least,  should  echo  with  the 
splendour  of  his  triumph,  now  that  Roman  forums  roar 
no  longer,  fallen  every  purple  Caesar's  dome !  If  Ambry 
behaved  as  foolishly  as  any  schoolboy  with  his  ridiculous 
telegram,  why,  whose  business  should  it  be  but  his  own? 
The  flimsy  thing  certainly  had  curative  properties,  for 
our  young  man  slept  as  profoundly  with  it  under  his 
pillow  as  if  he  had  had  all  an  opiate's  dreamy  depths 
to  draw  on. 

Next  morning,  after  hearty  farewells  to  Gertrude  and 
to  Johnstone-Ford,  Ambry  dashed  off  to  Wilton  Place 
to  start  Dodgson  once  more  into  pleasurable  activity 
about  his  person.  Arrayed  again  in  the  proper  plumage 
of  his  kind,  he  lunched  luxuriously,  smoked  half  a  dozen 
cigarettes,  and  then  made  his  way  around  to  Belgrave 
Square  at  the  earliest  moment  he  dared  to  present  him- 
self, experiencing  on  the  way  some  of  those  first,  fresh, 


288  THE  IMMORTAL  GYMNASTS 

palpitating  sensations  of  the  happy  lover  at  which  his 
youthful  cynicism  had  acquired  the  habit  of  sneering. 
Ah,  it  was  good,  intensely  so,  to  be  back  in  your  own 
world  again,  to  be  clad  in  fine  linen,  to  be  filled  with 
delicate  food,  to  be  waking  the  echo  of  Belgravian 
pavements  once  more.  He  wondered  if  Estelle  could 
manage  to  see  him  alone  for  one  divine  moment  before 
Lady  Cassock  would  proceed  to  envelop  him  in  her 
hostile  regard.  He  made  up  his  mind  that  he'd  see 
precious  little  of  that  good  lady  once  he  had  Estelle 
legally  under  his  arm. 

These  fugitive  thoughts  accompanied  him  into  the 
stucco  portico,  but  after  that  his  mental  processes 
became  arrested,  until,  from  the  end  of  the  long,  high, 
dusky  drawing-room  he  saw  his  beautiful  girl,  more 
beautiful  and  desirable  than  ever  in  her  nervousness 
and  her  pallor,  come  openly,  boldly,  radiantly  straight 
into  his  arms.  Then,  to  be  sure,  he  was  less  engaged  in 
thinking  than  in  feeling.  So  they  had  their  moment, 
but,  like  high  altitude,  it  took  it  out  of  them.  Estelle, 
womanlike,  was  the  first  to  return  to  a  more  respirable 
level.  She  drew  away,  and  gave  voice  to  what  had  been 
her  inner  parrot-cry  all  these  weeks — "  You've  acted 
rather  like  a  cad,  you  know,  Ambry."  But  he  was 
ready,  nay  anxious,  to  wallow  in  verbal  abasements. 
He  let  her  have  them,  and  she  sucked  them  in  as  eagerly 
as  a  small,  thirsty  child  holding  up  its  pouted  lips  to 
the  brim  of  a  tantalizing  bowl.  Ambry  was  profuse  in 
explanations  for  the  first  time  in  his  life,  but,  after  a 
surprisingly  short  interval,  Estelle  showed  that  she 
cared  for  them  not  at  all.  She  let  him  see,  intoxicat- 
ingly,  that  he  really  was  what  she  was  after.     This,  in 


THE  IMMORTAL  GYMNASTS  289 

itself,  is  enough  to  unbalance  any  normal  youth,  espe- 
cially when  the  girl  in  question  happens  to  be  an  Estelle, 
so  perhaps  it  was  just  as  well  that  Lady  Cassock 
dawdled  in  at  this  moment,  announced  by  the  short, 
fretful  bark  of  her  particular  Pomeranian. 

"  How  do  you  do,  Sir  Ambry  ? "  she  remarked. 
"  Where  did  you  take  cover?  " 

Lady  Cassock  had  a  maddening  way  of  asking  ques- 
tions, as  though  she  defied  you  to  answer  them,  so  in- 
solently indifferent  was  she  to  you  and  your  concerns. 

Ambry  muttered  something  about  Appleton  which 
was  a  patent  lie.  He  cared  not  a  rap.  He  was  walking 
on  air,  and  it  would  take  more  than  Etta  Cassock  to 
prick  his  bubble  now. 

"  We  are  off  to  a  cure,"  went  on  that  lady,  amiably 
for  her.    "  It  is  some  new  hole  in  Germany." 

"  Where  ?  "  asked  Ambry  eagerly. 

"  Oh,  Kronenschlacht,  or  some  such  impossible  name." 

"  By  Jove,  really  ?  "  cried  our  young  man,  feeling 
that  the  gods  were  indeed  playing  up  better  than  usual. 

"  What  about  it  ?  "  put  in  Estelle,  her  eyes  saying 
something  much  more  bewildering  than  that. 

"  Mother  and  Mr.  Goodrich-Dow  are  there.  I've 
just  heard.  It  is  the  very  latest  place  where  they  say 
the  waters  are  unimaginably  nasty.  How  jolly !  I  shall 
see  you  there  then." 

Lady  Cassock  preserved  her  composure  admirably 
under  this  announcement,  but  did  unbend  sufficiently 
to  be  civil  about  Lady  Nunholme. 

"  Heavens,  what  luck !  "  mused  Ambry.  "  Mother 
and  G.  D.  will  do  the  decent  thing  for  me,  and  they  can 
talk  the  old  cat  round.     In  any  event,  I  can  always 


290  THE  IMMORTAL  GYMNASTS 

count  on  Appleton.  If  she  still  keeps  her  back  up,  we 
can  cut  together." 

His  reckless  eye  held  Estelle  with  a  hundred  ques- 
tions burning  in  it.  She  saw  and  understood,  being 
clairvoyante,  a  sensitive  for  his  every  mood  to  prick 
almost  to  aching. 

"  Come,  come,  come,"  said  her  wide,  deep  eyes,  said 
her  hot  hand  lying  in  his,  as  they  appeared  to  be  ex- 
changing a  perfunctory  farewell  in  the  disenchanting 
atmosphere  habitually  diffused  by  Lady  Cassock. 

So  he  took  himself  off,  blissfully  volcanic,  to  meet 
Estelle  the  following  week,  both  as  straight  and  tall 
and  fine  as  the  young  Bavarian  pines  they  stood  among, 
beside  the  kursaal  of  the  insignificant  German  village, 
just  bursting  into  feverish  life  as  the  last  new,  fashion- 
able spa. 

So  Ambry  carried  his  successful  head,  his  whole  con- 
quering personality,  about  the  little  German  spa  where 
he  was  landlocked  with  his  willing  Estelle.  The  first 
barriers  had  crashed  down.  His  mother  was  wrestling, 
for  his  sake,  with  a  hungry,  thwarted,  tooth-bared, 
savage  parent  in  the  shape  of  Lady  Cassock,  who  had 
marked  down  more  spectacular,  if  less  young  and  juicy, 
game  for  her  beautiful  girl-cub. 

However,  the  fruits  of  victory  would  ultimately  crown 
stout,  easy  Mr.  Goodrich-Dow's  inexhaustible  cheque- 
book. He  was  proud  of  his  stepson,  and  was  not  un- 
willing to  be  his  acknowledged  benefactor.  So  matters 
were  more  or  less  scramblingly  arranged.  Ambry,  with 
a  sufficient  dot,  was  to  live  soberly  at  Appleton  with  his 
Estelle,  and  Etta  Cassock,  remembering  John  Capel  and 
concentrating  her  mind  on  Ambry's  physical  charms,  on 


THE  IMMORTAL  GYMNASTS  291 

his  not  wholly  to  be  despised  stub  of  a  title,  and  on  the 
undeniable  advantages  of  Appleton,  in  the  heart  of  the 
best  hunting  country,  with  money  enough  to  keep  it 
going,  decided  to  capitulate  gracefully.  This  she  suc- 
ceeded in  doing  fairly  well  so  far  as  Lady  Nunholme 
was  concerned,  for  the  latter  was  a  distinguished  if 
stupid  woman,  and  Etta  Cassock  thought  it  wise  to  be 
friends.  In  private,  however,  Estelle  and  Ambry  were 
treated  to  the  querulous,  subacid  digs  that  had  incensed 
them  to  fury  in  the  beginning  of  their  infatuation. 
Now,  however,  they  floated  together  in  a  serene,  golden 
ether,  too  subtle  to  be  penetrated  by  any  such  earthy 
darts  as  Lady  Cassock's  armoury  concealed. 

The  cure  was  working,  too,  and  the  delicious  con- 
sciousness of  vanishing  flesh,  the  hope  growing  to  cer- 
tainty before  the  end  of  the  season  that,  if  not  the  first, 
fine,  careless  rapture  of  perfect  line,  at  least  a  pre- 
sentable imitation  of  it,  was  about  to  be  recaptured, 
lent  Etta  Cassock  peace  of  mind,  and  a  willingness  to 
show  herself  as  amiable  as  her  tried  nature  would 
permit. 

So  Ambry,  the  slave  of  his  tall,  deep-eyed  girl,  al- 
though he  tried  desperately  to  hide  his  abasement,  was 
on  the  fair,  fine  road  to  decent  manhood,  with  the  way 
open  to  develop  those  aptitudes  that  Johnstone-Ford 
had  divined  at  Oxford,  with  healthy  leisure  to  love  and 
to  be  loved.  While  it  was  not  his  habit  to  analyze  his 
sensations,  it  being  sufficient  for  him  to  register  them 
with  the  magnificent  force  and  precision  of  his  youth 
and  vigour,  some  such  thoughts  as  these  drifted  through 
his  mind,  as  he  stood  one  day  with  Estelle  on  a  sharp, 
rocky  spur  at  the  top  of  a  straggling  mountain  path, 


29%  THE  IMMORTAL  GYMNASTS 

just  at  sunset,  the  sumptuous  purple  and  gold  of  the 
flooded  sky  in  their  eyes,  the  sighing,  aromatic  air  of 
the  thick-set  pines  in  their  nostrils. 

It  showed  the  progress  they  had  made  in  inner  har- 
mony that  neither  spoke,  but  the  girl  leaned  toward 
him,  her  hair  and  little  ear  against  his  cheek.  Then 
it  was  that  he  had  a  vision  of  Appleton,  and  what  their 
life  might  come  to  mean  to  both  of  them.  All  the  man 
in  him  leaped  to  meet  it ;  humble  enough  one  moment  to 
lie  at  her  feet,  superb  enough  the  next  to  imagine  her 
at  his.  The  two  natures  met  and  mingled  as  he  put  his 
arm  around  her  shoulders : 

"  Ueber  alien  Gipfeln  ist  Ruh'i  " 


CHAPTER  TWENTY 

EVER  since  the  scene  in  the  shop  at  the  end  of 
their  successful  tea-party,  Anie's  feet  had  had 
wings  upon  their  heels.  No  more  languid 
dawdling  about  the  cool  passages  of  the  house,  no  more 
aimless  trailing  about  the  moist,  fresh  garden  paths. 
Happy  love  set  her  dancing,  blew  her  along  like  a  dove's 
feather  in  that  spicy  gale  you  will  ever  find  to  puff  the 
sails  of  galleys  bound  and  freighted  for  Cythere.  She 
never  knew  until  she  had  lost  it  how  the  burden  of  the 
Ambry  episode  had  cut  into  her  thin  young  shoulders. 
Now  she  had  straightened  them  up  divinely,  as  the 
branch  of  a  slim,  white  birch  springs  back,  quivering 
through  all  its  supple  maiden  length,  released  on  a 
sudden  from  deforming  pressure. 

The  electric  atmosphere  of  the  drive  down  from 
Countess  Street  to  Wimbledon  that  afternoon  had  been 
enough  for  Gita,  and  in  her  bedroom  that  night  she 
held  her  rapturous  boy  in  her  arms  and  told  him  how 
happy  he  had  made  her.  Later,  in  another  midnight 
conference,  she  said  to  him :  "  I'll  manage  Etta.  To 
my  fond  mind,  of  course,  no  girl  could  do  better,  but  a 
coronet  or  untold  gold,  one  or  the  other,  is  for  ever 
obscuring  Etta's  outlook.  Our  Anie  is  in  disgrace,  so 
we  may  be  regarded  in  the  light  of  salvage  scooped  up 
from  the  general  wreck.  The  child  seems  the  softest 
little  clinging  piece  imaginable,  but  with  you,  my  dear, 
she  will  soon  show  the  more  solid  stuff  of  which  she  is 

293 


294  THE  IMMORTAL  GYMNASTS 

really  made.  The  sound,  firm  pith  Is  there  for  you  to 
carve  into  what  you  will.  She'll  be  your  living  master- 
piece without  a  doubt.  I  feel  almost  excited  these  days. 
That  my  baby  should  be  so  definitely  grown  up  as  to 
wish  to  tuck  a  little  wife  under  his  arm !  O  Varian,  how 
will  you  ever  know  what  to  do  with  her?  " 

They  laughed,  and  he  kissed  her,  his  head  on  her 
shoulder,  his  arms  locked  around  her  waist,  as  they  had 
been  used  to  sit,  years  ago,  during  their  infrequent 
meetings  in  holiday  times.  They  decided  that  the 
engagement  should  remain  a  family  affair  for  the 
moment,  nothing  to  be  officially  announced  until  the 
autumn. 

"  Anie  is  still  a  little  bruised  and  sensitive,  poor 
child,"  went  on  Varian. — "  It  would  be  rather  deuced 
awkward,  wouldn't  it? — if  Ambry  should  pull  it  off 
with  Estelle." 

"  Oh,  I  don't  know,"  replied  his  mother.  "  It  might, 
on  the  contrary,  bring  you  all  together  again  on  a 
good,  healthy,  commonplace  footing.  No  sentiment, 
no  woman's  vanity  or  pride,  can  long  survive  the  rough- 
and-tumble  give-and-take  of  intercourse  between  in- 
laws. You'll  all  be  slanging  each  other  in  a  fortnight, 
like  a  pack  of  children.  Ambry  and  Anie  will  be  only 
too  glad  to  slide  into  such  a  simple  relationship.  It 
will  help  them  both  to  forget  that  they  have  anything 
to  be  fidgety  about.  Get  them  so  far,  and — click! 
You'll  find  yourselves  gathered  safe  and  warm  into  the 
refuge  of  a  durable,  unexciting  friendship." 

"  Anie  has  written  to  Aunt  Etta,"  said  Varian,  after 
a  pause.  "  That  will  probably  bring  her  down  on  you, 
dearest  mother.     But  surely  they  must  be  on  the  point 


THE  IMMORTAL  GYMNASTS  295 

of  leaving  town?  Belgrave  Square  is  as  empty  as  a 
church  on  a  holiday." 

"  They  are  going.  I  had  a  scratch  from  Etta  before 
all  this  happened.  Her  doctor  is  benevolently  packing 
them  off  to  the  last  new  German  cure.  She  is  alarmed 
about  her  figure.  Good  heavens,  Varian,  what  a  life 
some  women  lead !  Etta,  quite  unconsciously,  often  fills 
me  with  pity  and  terror.  I  dare  say  I  inspire  her  with 
pure  contempt,  when  I  chance  to  float  at  all  across  her 
inner  vision.  But  our  Anie  is  such  a  sweet  witch,  I  must 
some  day  become  acquainted  with  Estelle." 

"Oh,  Estelle!"  ejaculated  Varian,  poking  out  his 
long  legs  and  musingly  regarding  his  neat  feet.  "  She 
is  too  overpowering  for  such  simple  folk  as  we.  She 
and  her  baronet  will  be  a  magnificent  pair.  I  hope 
she'll  manage  to  keep  Ambry  straight.  He's  splendid 
to  look  upon  and  a  good  chap,  too,  except  when  he's 
making  a  cad  of  himself.  But  when  he  owns  up,  you 
find  yourself  weakening,  and  you  don't  try  to  punch 
his  eye  after  all.  Confound  him!  What  on  earth  do 
you  suppose  he  was  really  doing  in  the  Pantas'  neigh- 
bourhood? I  wonder  whether  it  was  something  he 
cooked  up  with  Estelle?  Not  that  it  matters  in  the 
least,  except  that  if  he  hadn't  pounced  in  on  Anie  that 
day,  your  Varian  wouldn't  be  the  man  he  is  this  night. 
Mother  darling,  you  haven't  the  faintest  idea  how  un- 
imaginably sweet  she  is.  It  melts  my  heart  straight 
into  water — or  wine,  wine  of  a  sacrament — the  greatest 
in  all  the  world." 

Gita,  who  had  happened  to  love  his  father  in  this 
same  fashion,  became  conscious  of  a  faint,  reminiscent 
shudder  of  ecstasy  and  of  pain.     They  had  both  had 


296  THE  IMMORTAL  GYMNASTS 

enough  for  to-night.  With  her  hands  on  his  shoulders, 
they  looked  and  kissed,  exquisitely,  understandingly,  as 
is  given  to  but  few  mothers  and  sons. 

The  ripe  August  days  continued  to  curtain  Varian 
and  his  Anie,  hanging  silken  pavilions  about  them  in 
the  Wimbledon  garden,  made  up  of  the  pale  blue  of  the 
early  morning  sky,  of  the  long,  fluttering,  gauzy,  apri- 
cot-coloured scarves  of  twilight.  Bee  was  swimming  in 
romantic  joy,  Gita  tenderer  to  them  than  ever,  so  work 
went  by  the  board,  the  rooms  in  Cambridge  Street  grew 
dustier  and  dustier,  and  Varian  practised  no  art  save 
that  curious,  broken,  birdlike,  calling,  recalling,  inter- 
rupting, resuming,  fluting,  caressing,  passionate  one, 
caught  by  playing  the  sedulous  imitator  to  the  dove  and 
the  nightingale,  those  two  living  manuals  of  a  true 
lover's  conversation. 

The  suggestion  that  the  charming  and  original  house- 
hold in  Countess  Street  should  pass  a  long,  late  summer 
evening  with  them,  to  disport  themselves  beneath  the 
full,  luscious  August  moon,  to  sing,  to  dance,  to  talk 
in  the  green,  hollyhock-guarded  wings,  or  on  the  clipped 
tapis  vert  of  their  sylvan  stage,  was  not  forgotten,  and 
Gita  presently  dispatched  an  urgent  invitation,  giving 
certain  open  dates,  to  be  more  or  less  governed  by  the 
state  of  the  moon. 

It  had  been  a  fair,  dry,  golden  season,  one  of  those 
that  every  fifty  years  or  so  alight  upon  this  long-suffer- 
ing Isle  of  England,  and  there  was  every  prospect  for  a 
happy  fete,  Pomona  trailing  her  wreathed  and  laden 
car  across  the  yellow  fields,  ripe  apples  dropping  as  she 
passed.  In  the  garden,  nimble  magic  pencils,  dripping 
with  purple,  with  crimson,  with  every  suave  and  subtle 


THE  IMMORTAL  GYMNASTS  297 

mixture  of  autumnal  tones,  had  drawn  an  illuminated 
wreath  of  flowers  down  every  path,  around  every 
bosquet,  so  that  they  blazed  and  sang  in  the  sun- 
light, as  gay,  as  daring,  as  inspired  as  those  in 
any  painted  Persian  manuscript.  In  the  square,  lobby- 
like hall  of  the  house  it  pleased  Gita  for  the  mo- 
ment to  fill  the  pots  and  bowls  and  osier  baskets 
with  fruit  instead  of  flowers,  and  your  delighted 
eye  was  played  upon  with  such  harmonies  of  violet 
grapes,  of  apricots,  bursting  their  plump,  freckled  sides, 
of  golden  plums,  of  pears,  elegant,  tapering,  inviting 
your  teeth  in  their  luxurious  russet  contours,  that  you 
instinctively  saluted  once  more  the  genial,  opulently- 
minded  Venetian  whose  name  has  always  been  illogically 
associated  in  our  cooler  northern  imagination  with  just 
this  species  of  pagan  decoration. 

Facing  these  trophies  of  the  living  time,  low  on  the 
staircase  wall  hung  a  large,  drowsy  Poussin,  exactly 
in  character,  in  whose  mysterious  bronze-green  depths 
Actaeon  or  Apollo,  Endymion  or  Meleager,  might  fitly 
pursue  goddess,  nymph,  or  simple  maid.  Gita  had  had 
a  couch  and  a  few  basket  chairs  and  thin-legged  tables 
placed  in  this  hallway,  near  the  wide  entrance  to  the 
terrace,  and  here  they  sometimes  had  tea  when  the  wind 
or  the  sun  was  too  insistent  for  her  tired  eyes  out  of 
doors. 

Rather  liking  this  cool  nest  she  had  made  for  her- 
self, for  all  footsteps  were  hushed  in  the  quiet  house  of 
an  afternoon,  Gita  had  taken  to  lounging  here  by  her- 
self, with  her  drawing-pad  and  her  books,  while  Varian 
and  Anie  roamed  the  garden  through,  or  took  the  car 
for  breathless,  cross-country  flights.     The  sketches  she 


298  THE  IMMORTAL  GYMNASTS 

produced  were  frequently  bizarre,  and  Varian  thought 
them  awfully  jolly  when  he  caught  a  glimpse  of  them, 
but  one  could  see  that  the  dear  boy's  eye  really  observed 
and  noted  when  but  one  solitary  object  was  presented 
to  his  retina,  i.e.,  this  sidling  young  thing,  this  Anie, 
with  the  flat,  childish  figure,  and  the  soft,  scented,  wine- 
dark  cloud  of  hair,  a  rather  pathetic  bud  still,  but  hid- 
ing for  him,  so  he  passionately  continued  to  feel,  all  the 
promise  of  the  ripest,  the  most  golden  autumn. 

They  were  sitting  very  near  together  on  a  small  green 
bench  beside  the  Bois  at  the  close  of  a  warm,  airless 
day  toward  the  end  of  the  month.  Streaked,  livid 
clouds  piled  themselves  thunderously  in  the  West,  out 
of  which  began  to  creep  a  thin,  damp  breeze. 

"  Rather  gloomy  prospect  for  to-morrow,"  remarks 
Varian,  knowingly  squinting  up  one  eye. 

"  Don't  try  to  look  like  the  Ancient  Mariner,  you 
adorable  humbug,"  replies  his  companion,  her  hand  fast 
in  his.  "  Why  disturb  yourself?  I  simply  know  that 
it  will  not  rain  to-morrow,  but  that  the  sun  will  shine 
on  all  the  late  roses,  making  them  smell,  smell,  smell, 
that  the  moon  will  pop  up,  really  almost  too  ridiculously 
full,  that  the  grass  will  be  as  dry  and  as  soft  as  cotton- 
wool, and  that  we  shall  sit  here — or  rather  I,  especially, 
shall  sit  here  with  that  delightfully  mysterious  Mr.  Quin, 
and  I  shall  sing  to  him,  strumming  on  my  little  guitar, 
and  then  perhaps  he'll  dance " 

"  And  what  of  me,  by  Jove,  I  should  like  to  know?  * 
demands  a  justly  incensed  Varian.  "  What  am  I  sup- 
posed to  be  doing  while  you  are  shamelessly  flirting  with 
Quin?" 

Anie  gurgled  like  a  fatigued  thrush.     "  Oh,  you — 


THE  IMMORTAL  GYMNASTS  299 

you  are  to  play  the  demure  antiquary  with  old  Mr. 
Panta,  who  simply  worships  you — anyone  can  see  that." 

"  Humph,"  rejoins  Varian,  succeeding  in  producing 
that  purely  theatrical  sound  quite  successfully.  "  I 
rather  fancy  myself,  on  the  contrary,  with  that  rosy 
Mistress  Bina,  just  far  enough  behind  this  hollyhock 
clump  to  escape  your  eagle  eye — for  you'll  be  watching 
me,  you  little  haughty  body !  You  know  you  simply 
can't  bear  me  out  of  your  sight." 

He  challenged  her,  his  whole  face  softening  under 
the  rush  of  feeling  behind  the  teasing  words.  She  met 
him  gallantly,  answering  what  the  eyes,  not  the  lips 
demanded. 

"  You  are  the  dearest  little  person  for  a  chap  to 
have  for  his  very  own,"  said  Varian  after  a  pause.  "  I 
never  knew  before  that  I  had  it  in  me  to  be  as  jealous 
as  a  Turk.  I'd  like,  with  one  part  of  my  will,  to  swathe 
you  in  veils  up  to  those  aggravating  eyelashes,  and  to 
lock  you  in  my  Tower  of  Ivory,  but,  with  the  other, 
better  part  of  me,  I'd  bring  you  the  key  on  a  silken 
string,  and  you  could  walk  out  into  the  open  bazaar, 
over  my  heart  with  your  little  feet,  if  so  it  pleased 
you." 

She  rubbed  her  cheek  against  his  arm.  "  What  do 
you  take  me  for?  "  she  asked  naturally  enough. 

"  I'll  tell  you  another  time.  It  would  make  too  long- 
winded  a  tale  now.  Come,  let  us  decide  what  you  are  to 
sing  to-morrow,  in  order  to  ravish  our  guests.  You 
tune  your  tiny  pipe  very  well  to  ancient  things.  Old  Mr. 
Panta  will  like  that.  Mother  said  you  had  found  some- 
thing in  the  library.  What  is  it?  One  of  Master 
Lawes'  innocuous  ripplings  ?  " 


300  THE  IMMORTAL  GYMNASTS 

"  No ;  someone  not  quite  so  well  known,  but  of  course 
you  will  have  heard  of  him — a  Philip  Rossiter,  who 
describes  himself  as  a  Lutenist." 

"  Oh,  is  that  his  name — the  fellow  who  wrote  the 
music  for  Campion's  '  Booke  of  Aires  '?  Is  that  what 
you  found  ?  " 

"  It  is,  with  some  of  the  most  charming,  quaint, 
tinkling  things.  As  they  were  written  for  the  lute, 
I  can  manage  them  very  well  on  my  guitar — at  least 
well  enough  for  out  of  doors,  in  moonlight,  when  the 
severest  hasn't  the  heart  to  be  critical.  Shall  we  go 
up  to  the  house  and  practise  them  now?  The  first  one 
I  have  chosen  begins : 

Follow  pour  saint,  follow  with  accents  sweet! 
Haste  you,  sad  notes,  fall  at  her  flying  feet! 

And  then,  should  the  applause  become — tumultuous,  I 
shall  sing  that  dear, 

Rose-cheeked  Laura,  come, 


"  Remain  tranquil,"  said  Varian  solemnly.  "  With 
Bee  and  myself  as  claque,  night  will  be  made  sufficiently 
hideous,  and  your  rose-cheeked  Laura  will  be  in  danger 
of  turning  purple,  so  eager  will  she  be  to  burst  forth 
to  stay  our  frantic  clamour.  Count  on  us,  my  dear. 
Hadn't  you  better  have  two  up  your  sleeve?" 

He  pulled  her  gently  to  her  feet,  tucked  her  arm  well 
up  under  his,  and  turned  toward  the  terrace  from  which 
the  house,  its  solid  Georgian  block  spiritualized  by  the 
pale,  broken,  afternoon  light,  fronted  them  with  ample 


THE  IMMORTAL  GYMNASTS  SOI 

dignity  above  the  mauve  and  lemon,  bronze  and  crimson 
and  gold  of  the  waning  garden. 

The  windy  night  that  followed,  tearing  at  the  ivy- 
ropes,  and  scattering  seed-pods  and  coloured  petals  like 
confetti  all  along  the  wet,  shining  paths,  did  not  bring 
that  rainy  morrow  once  so  melodiously  dreaded  by  our 
ever-living  poet.  Instead,  the  mild,  warm,  faint,  mist- 
thickened,  golden-powdered,  August  sun  came  in  Anie's 
windows,  pointing  taper  fingers  across  the  thin  silk 
coverlet  of  her  bed,  waking  her  out  of  her  early  morning 
drowse  to  pleased,  childish  contemplation  of  the  cheer- 
ful, broadening  light.  It  stole  equally  through  the 
darker  London  air,  finding  entrance  with  as  inquisitive 
an  insistence  to  the  little  house  in  Countess  Street, 
arousing  Bina  in  her  warm,  white  nest,  so  that  she 
stirred  and  smiled,  lifting  herself  on  one  rounded  elbow, 
shaking  back  her  brown  hair  to  make  sure  that  no  surly 
raindrops  were  dripping  from  the  laburnum.  Quin  it 
found  broad  awake,  watching  its  approach  with  deep, 
quiet,  unsurprised  eyes.  He  lay  as  Ambry  did,  straight 
as  an  arrow,  the  spent  arms  folded,  the  whole  admirable 
body  lax.  Through  what  dark  hours  had  he  not  been 
thinking!  until  now,  in  the  full  dawn,  he  moved  to  meet 
the  day  and  Bina,  determined,  as  the  fruit  of  medita- 
tion, as  the  result  of  the  havoc  wrought  in  mind  and 
body,  to  tell  that  charming  young  woman  that  she  must 
love  him  or  let  him  go.  The  torture  inflicted  on  his 
senses  by  this  daily,  friendly,  homely  intercourse  was 
becoming  rather  too  much  of  a  St.  Lawrence  grill. 

Panta,  for  his  part,  was  as  happy  as  a  child  to  see  the 
sun.  The  anticipated  fete  at  the  home  of  his  cherished 
young  friend  Varian,  the  opportunity  to  study  once 


302  THE  IMMORTAL  GYMNASTS 

more  that  graceful  woman,  his  mother,  whose  Italianate 
silhouette  recalled  forgotten  episodes  of  the  old  dim 
days  in  town  or  villa,  set  Panta  chirping  about  the 
back  room,  brushing  the  well-worn  suit  of  sober  black 
that  was  to  robe  him,  the  broad,  old-fashioned  hat  that 
was  to  shade  his  ancient  brow  so  benignantly. 

As  a  matter  of  fact,  he  was  dressed  and  ready  hours 
before  Varian  was  to  pick  them  up,  sitting  a  little  stiffly 
in  his  leather  chair,  not  reading,  but  turning  gently, 
with  the  knowing  fingers  of  a  bibliophile,  the  thick  yellow 
leaves  of  those  "  Memoirs  "  Goldoni  wrote  to  ease  his 
later,  worn,  uneasy  hours,  he  "  good,  gay,  sunniest  of 
souls,"  as  that  sympathetic  Mr.  Browning  so  cleverly 
puts  it,  fallen  on  evil  days  far  from  his  sprightly 
Venice.  Panta  knew  it  all  so  well,  had,  in  fact,  been 
one  of  that  merry  party  on  the  Brent  a,  but  Cubical  life 
demands  exacting  tolls,  and  the  cloud-capped  memory 
grows  shorter  and  shorter,  as  the  tale  of  Cube-lived 
years  lengthens  out  into  the  twilight  of  what  is  said 
to  be  old  age.  So  Panta  could  recall  his  past  only  in 
vague,  blurred  snatches,  not  as  an  actual  experience, 
but  rather  as  an  animated  description  of  something 
that  might  once  have  occurred  to  any  eighteenth- 
century  worthy.  Occasionally  a  winged  shaft,  such  as 
Gita  shot  from  her  soft  Italian  eyes  with  their  bistre 
shadows,  would  set  some  intense  inner  chord  vibrating, 
and,  for  an  instant,  he  would  be  back  again  in  a  slip 
of  a  street  as  dark  as  a  velvet  pocket,  or  bright  with 
Southern  moonlight,  the  air  carrying  to  eager  ear  and 
nostril  the  dying  fall  of  the  violins,  the  scent  of  the 
orange  in  flower. 

Bina  busied  herself  in  her  small,  commercial  domain, 


THE  IMMORTAL  GYMNASTS  303 

as  was  her  habit  of  a  morning,  whisking  her  fresh  print 
gown  from  counter  to  window,  serving  all  and  sundry 
with  a  smiling  willingness  that  was  as  soothing  as  a 
benediction  to  the  weary,  bored,  querulous,  harassed 
mortals  who  constituted  her  ordinary  clientele.  On  the 
trail  of  a  smart  young  buttons  who  gamboled  by  about 
eleven  o'clock  for  three  impeccably  fresh  eggs,  pretty 
Nurse  Elsie  dropped  in,  free  for  a  moment  from  her 
babies  and  her  cats,  to  chat  with  Bina  who  fascinated 
women  of  her  own  age  as  easily  as  she  did  more  in- 
flammable material. 

After  Elsie  had  discharged  her  small  change  of 
neighbourhood  gossip,  she  asked  mysteriously :  "  Did 
you  ever  happen  to  see  a  very  handsome  young  man 
who  lived  with  the  Johnstone-Fords  ?  Really  stunning, 
you  know,  with  such  eyes !  He  came  once  to  the  Shelter 
with  Miss  Johnstone-Ford,  and  I  don't  mind  telling 
you  that  I  dreamed  of  him.  Now  do  you  know  what 
I  have  just  found  out  from  that  close-mouthed  Jenny?  " 

Nurse  Elsie  lowered  her  pretty,  bebonneted  head, 
her  blue  eyes  shining,  her  red  lips  caressing  their  little 
secret.  Bina  forbore  to  show  by  the  faintest  sign  that 
she  knew  what  was  coming.  Why  not  humour  this  en- 
gaging female  creature  whom  Ambry's  unfailing  magic 
had  beguiled  as  easily  as  it  had  so  many  of  the  wiser 
and  more  subtle? 

"  He's  a  baronet,  my  dear,  no  less,"  pursued  Elsie 
triumphantly.  "Not  Mr.  Holmes  at  all,  as  we  were 
given  to  understand,  but  Sir  Ambry  Nunholme.  What 
do  you  think  of  that?  I  must  say  he  looks  it,  every 
inch.  Jenny  let  it  out,  but,  of  course,  it's  a  secret. 
Why  shouldn't  he  be  a  duke?  I'm  sure  it  would  be  more 


304  THE  IMMORTAL  GYMNASTS 

in  keeping  to  call  him  Your  Grace  than  some  of  those 
shabby  old  men  they  tell  me  have  the  right  to  it.  Did 
he  ever  come  here?"  Elsie  asked,  feeling  instinctively 
that  this  pretty  Miss  Bina,  who  seemed  so  superior  in 
some  ways,  would  be  just  the  sort  to  catch  the  roving 
eye  of  a  beautiful,  disguised  baronet. 

"  Oh,  once,  with  Miss  Johnstone-Ford,"  replied  Bina 
carelessly.  "  It  was  about  the  Wimbledon  milk,  I  re- 
member. He  was  so  tall  he  shut  all  the  light  out  of 
the  doorway,  so  that  I  could  scarcely  see  him.  You  will 
want  the  same  quantity  of  milk  every  day?  "  went  on 
Bina,  willing  to  carry  the  conversation  back  to  its 
proper  channel.  She  succeeded,  and  there  it  became 
anchored  for  a  moment  or  two  longer  in  a  soft,  creamy, 
eggy  stream  till  Nurse  Elsie  took  herself  off,  pleased 
with  her  shared  confidence.  At  the  corner  of  Countess 
Street  she  ran  across  Quin,  whom  she  knew  by  sight. 

"  He's  almost  as  good-looking  in  his  way  as  Sir 
Ambry,"    she    said    to    herself.      "  I    wonder    if    Miss 

Bina "  but  here  we  must  stop  our  prying  in  the 

small,  close  backwater  of  that  youthful,  middle-class 
mind,  lest  we  choke  and  splutter  and  say  harsher  things 
than  we  really  mean.    Pass,  Nurse  Elsie. 

Quin  found  Bina  in  the  back  room,  setting  out  a 
luncheon-tray. 

"  Do  sit  down  for  a  moment,"  he  said. 

She  looked  up  at  him,  threw  up  her  hands  in  mock 
acquiescence,  and  sat  down  in  her  little  chair. 

"  Forgive  me,"  said  Quin,  "  for  bullying  you,  but  I 
slept  badly  last  night,  and  it  rests  me  to  see  you,  just 
you,  gentle,  quiet,  unoccupied,  sitting  near  me  for  five 
minutes.     Do  you  think  me  slightly  mad  to  be  talking 


THE  IMMORTAL  GYMNASTS  305 

in  this  way  at  half -past  eleven  of  a  clear,  warm,  sum- 
mer's morning?  Mad,  if  you  will,  but  almost  happy 
looking  at  you  in  front  of  me." 

Bina  down  in  her  prophetic  heart  did  feel  a  bit  dis- 
turbed, for  she  responded  like  a  clairvoyante  to  that 
impetuous,  passionate  undercurrent  that  she  knew  to 
be  flowing  deep  and  dark  and  strong  behind  Quin's 
slightly  fantastic  address.  She  must  manage  to  keep 
him  quiet  for — oh,  a  day  longer.  She  must  have  time 
to  catch  her  breath,  to  set  her  little  feet  firmly  on  the 
brink,  to  squeeze  her  heels  into  the  yielding  soil,  before, 
with  eyes  wide  open,  with  hair  blown  back,  with  her 
whole  body  straining  and  kindling  to  his  touch,  she 
forces  herself  to  the  ultimate  plunge  into  what  she 
knows  will  be  life  and  light  and  joy  unspeakable.  But, 
being  a  woman,  she  must  have  her  foolish  little  shiver- 
ing moment  first. 

So  they  both  shared  mutely  for  an  instant  their  con- 
sciousness of  that  rock  in  midstream,  dim,  unknown, 
but  not  forbidding;  enticing,  rather,  hung  as  it  was  in 
vapourish,  sun-flushed  clouds,  miraculously  selected  to 
be  the  scene  of  their  ultimate  shipwreck,  its  dark,  wet 
mass  ordained  to  transform  itself,  at  their  first  des- 
perate impact,  into  a  soft,  warm,  illimitable  Ark  of 
Salvation. 

But  the  hour  was  manifestly  not  yet.  Therefore 
Bina  went  on  with  her  luncheon-tray,  while  Quin  lit 
his  pipe  and  made  conversation.  Bina  resketched  for 
him  Nurse  Elsie's  communication  in  regard  to  Ambry. 

"  He  has,  I  suppose,"  remarked  Quin  when  she  had 
finished,  "  rebounded  into  his  native  element  once  more. 
He  and  the  tall  maid  we  saw  him  sulking  with  that  eve- 


306  THE  IMMORTAL  GYMNASTS 

ning  will  make  a  proper  pair.  The  little  lady  at  Wim- 
bledon has  chosen  the  better  part  in  Master  Varian,  a 
charming  lad  with  a  distinct  zest  to  him.  We  shall 
have  our  moon  and  our  music  to-night,  and  young  love 
sucking  in  the  bliss  of  it  almost  as  unconsciously  as  the 
roses." 

Alas,  Quin,  can't  you  keep  the  temperature  of  your 
voice  down  any  better  than  that? 

"  Yes,  how  jolly,"  returned  Bina,  little  wretch,  as 
matter-of-fact  as  you  please. 

Here  Panta  drifted  in,  questing  for  luncheon,  as 
noiselessly  as  a  piece  of  hungry  thistledown. 


CHAPTER  TWENTY-ONE 

VARIAN  came  for  them  in  the  early  twilight, 
accompanied  by  his  shy  young  lady  who  had 
motored  up  from  Wimbledon  to  protect  him,  so 
she  said,  from  the  Metropolitan  Police.  With  her  be- 
side him,  and  Peters  bobbing  about  like  a  split  pea  in 
the  tonneau,  he  was  apt  to  become  so  oblivious  of  time 
and  space  that  a  Herbert  Spencer  would  have  regarded 
him  with  a  mixture  of  horror  and  contempt,  and  a 
framer  of  speed  limits  could  scarcely  have  suffered  his 
presence.  In  deference  to  Mr.  Panta,  however,  the 
sorely-tried,  proper  Peters  took  command  of  the  wheel, 
and  Varian  fitted  himself  in  very  agreeably  with  Bina 
and  Anie  and  Anie's  delightfully  mysterious  Mr.  Quin. 
The  latter  devoted  himself  to  drawing  Anie  out,  having 
a  clever  hand  with  the  opening  minds  of  the  young  of 
all  species,  with  kittens,  puppies,  or  tender  maids,  espe- 
cially when  the  latter  are  head  over  heels  in  love  and 
as  pellucidly  transparent,  in  that  delicious  state,  as  the 
very  particular  pool  of  Narcissus. 

Gita,  in  a  white  gown,  with  long,  slender,  quivering, 
sparkling  ear-rings  that  became  her  well,  welcomed  them, 
standing  on  the  flight  of  shallow  steps  at  the  head  of 
the  dusky  entrance  avenue.  Bee  hovered  behind  her 
like  a  purple  shadow.  The  evening  light  warmed  the 
ancient  yellowish  facade,  intensifying  ivory  tones  in  pil- 
lar and  portico,  rounding  and  deepening  the  mysterious 
mass  of  the  ivy,  striking  a  last,  fugitive  spark  from  a 

307 


308  THE  IMMORTAL  GYMNASTS 

gilded  weather-vane  in  the  shape  of  a  gallant  steed,  cob 
built,  with  his  cloaked  and  dapper  rider. 

After  a  delicate,  leisurely  meal  they  lingered  for  a 
moment  in  the  hall. 

"  Children — Varian,  Anie,"  began  Gita,  standing  tall 
and  slim  and  white  and  fragile,  with  the  tips  of  her 
pretty  fingers  on  the  delighted  Panta's  arm.  "  Take 
Miss  Panta  and  Mr.  Quin  into  the  garden.  Go  down 
to  the  Bois.  The  fruit  and  coffee  have  been  carried 
there.  You  will  find  cigarettes.  The  air  and  light  are 
so  divine  you  must  not  lose  a  breath  or  a  gleam.  Mr. 
Panta  and  Bee  and  I  will  join  you  presently.  We  want 
to  rest  here  for  a  moment  to  talk  of  Italy  and  Poussin." 

"  I  see  Italy  in  your  face,  ma'am,"  said  Panta,  after 
the  young  things  had  gone  on.  "  It's  not  so  much  a 
given  line  or  feature,  it's  a  look  you've  caught.  I've 
noticed  the  same  thing  many  times  in  their  portraits. 
It  grows  out  of  a  certain  habit  of  thinking.  There 
used  to  be  a  country  house  near  Sienna,  and  the  lord 
of  it  had  his  lady  painted  half  a  hundred  times.  There 
they  hang,  the  fifty  of  'em,  in  a  long  gallery  open  to 
the  garden,  and  after  some  years,  as  you  may  imagine, 
they  became  very  mouldish  and  spotty  with  the  damp. 
But  the  look  of  all  of  them,  ma'am;  you  never  could 
mistake  it.  It  sang  out  the  blood  of  the  country,  with 
the  wine  and  the  olive  in  the  cheek,  and  the  sunshine 
in  her  eyes.  He  had  her  painted,  decked  out  in  old 
dresses  from  his  wardrobes,  and  her  neck  and  head 
sprang  out  of  the  ancient  stuffs  like  lilies  from  a  bunch 
of  weeds." 

"  How  extraordinary !  "  breathed  Bee,  quite  overcome 
by  the  style  of  the  old  gentleman's  conversation.     "  Do 


THE  IMMORTAL  GYMNASTS  309 

you  suppose  one  could  see  the  pictures  now,  if  one  knew 
the  villa?  " 

"  Gone,  gone,"  replied  Panta,  coming  back  to  him- 
self with  difficulty.  It  would  never  do  to  let  the  ladies 
suspect  to  quite  how  vanishing  a  length  his  memory 
went  sometimes.  That  lady  of  his,  for  example,  had 
smiled  her  golden  smile  before  ever  this  house  in  which 
they  stood  had  risen  a  course  high.  So  he  retreated 
gently.  u  Gone,  gone,  broken  up,  sold,  like  so  many  of 
them.  You  know,  ma'am,"  turning  to  Gita,  "  how  the 
hills  and  valleys  roundabout  there  are  all  full  of  lonely, 
decaying  dwellings,  with  creepers  choking  the  gardens, 
and  no  water  in  the  fountains  any  more.  It's  years 
since  I  was  there,  but  I  know  what  it  was  in  my  time." 

"  I  have  lived  there,  too,"  said  Gita,  "  with  nry 
Italian  father's  people,  principally  in  Rome,  but  I  know 
the  hills  and  the  enchanted  loggias,  high  on  their  ter- 
races, dreaming  over  the  olives  and  the  ilexes.  Varian 
and  I  must  buy  one  some  fine  day.  Life  goes  easily 
there,  and  you  smile  at  the  slightest  thing,  at  a  lizard 
on  the  broken  wall,  or  a  bough  of  cherries,  exactly  like 
the  Last  Duchess." 

She  looked  down  gently  and  kindly  on  her  guest. 
Panta  did  not  catch  the  allusion,  although  he  had  heard 
of  Mr.  Browning,  Quin  having  shown  him  the  sonnet 
on  Goldoni. 

"  That  bronze-dark  picture,"  she  went  on,  turning 
toward  it  with  a  movement  of  her  graceful  head,  "  might 
be  any  wood,  along  any  height,  in  the  Apennines.  Alas, 
for  people  like  you  and  me,  Mr.  Panta,  no  more  for  us 
shall  such  green  glades  show  a  hero  or  a  goddess.  We 
were  born  too  late.    I  lie  here  of  an  afternoon  and  dream 


310  THE  IMMORTAL  GYMNASTS 

myself  back  to  an  eternally  vanished  Golden  Age  that 
might,  perhaps,  after  all,  have  been  quite  as  boring  as 
this  iron  and  steam  one.  We  are  so  apt  to  magnify 
the  charms  of  a  given  epoch  or  environment,  quite  for- 
getting that  we  have  our  personalities  immovably 
around  our  necks,  clutching  us  like  so  many  Old  Men  of 
the  Sea." 

Here  Panta  saw  a  splendid  opening  for  a  neat  ex- 
cerpt or  two  from  his  immortal  friend,  the  "  Gymnast," 
but  he  forbore,  recollecting  vaguely  some  admonition  to 
the  effect  that  pure  philosophy  is  disturbing,  if  not 
actually  harmful,  to  ladies.  So  he  contented  himself 
with  saying :  "  True,  true,"  very  wisely,  observing  at 
the  same  time  that  nobody  has  yet  painted  an  olive  tree 
as  it  should  be  done. 

"  Catch  the  light  just  so  on  a  slope  of  them,  and,  in 
a  wink,  you  seem  to  hear  and  understand  all  the  poetry 
that  has  ever  been  sung  or  written." 

"  Why,  you  are  a  poet  yourself,  Mr.  Panta,"  ex- 
claimed Bee,  quite  taken  with  this  curious  little  man 
who  appeared,  so  oddly,  to  draw  upon  an  amazingly 
extended  experience. 

This  frank  and  flattering  estimate  turned  Panta  shy 
and  silent  for  a  moment,  so  Gita  seized  the  opportunity 
to  suggest  that  they  join  the  others  in  the  Bois. 

"Did  you  see  Varian  take  Anie's  guitar,  Bee?  "  she 
asked,  as  they  walked  through  the  dim  hall  toward  the 
open  square  of  the  great  door,  framing  in  perspective 
a  pale,  tree-darkened,  hedge-set,  mist-softened  segment 
of  the  brooding  twilight  garden. 

"  Mr.  Quin  was  carrying  it,  I  think,"  replied  Bee. 
"  Does  your  daughter  sing,  Mr.  Panta?  " 


THE  IMMORTAL  GYMNASTS  311 

"  She  has  a  tender  little  note  or  two,  that  is  all,"  re- 
turned Panta,  always  slightly  confused  when  these  good 
people  dotted  the  i's  and  crossed  the  t's  of  his  paternity. 
That  he  should  be  considered  the  father  of  his  beautiful 
Columbine  smote  his  heart  with  tenderness.  They  were 
kind,  they  were  wonderfully  kind,  this  sweet  woman  and 
her  son,  and  he  would  have  liked  to  be  quite  frank  with 
them,  but,  oh  Lord !  how  announce  yourself  as  the  only 
and  original  Pantaloon,  the  veritable  incarnation  of  the 
spirit  of  Comedy?  It  would  never  do  in  the  world. 
Such  an  announcement  would  be  considered  shocking 
bad  taste,  to  say  the  least,  and  he  would  doubtless  stand 
a  fair  chance  of  finding  himself  in  the  English  equivalent 
for  a  maison  de  sante,  cheap  and  quiet. 

"  She  dances,  you  know,"  he  added.  "  Light  on  her 
feet  she  is,  marvellously." 

"  What  a  charming  art  that  is,"  mused  Gita,  stop- 
ping a  moment  to  pinch  gently  between  finger  and  thumb 
a  particularly  full  and  enticing  rosebud,  its  tiny  petals 
lapping  one  upon  another  like  a  series  of  small,  downy 
pink  tongues.  "  To  me  there  is  something  hypnotic  in 
the  delicious  posturing,  the  trembling  on  the  delicate 
toes,  the  dazzling  patterns  of  the  white,  weaving  arms. 
Your  good  dancer  is  a  poet " 

"  Or,  what  is  better,  he  or  she  makes  one  of  you, 
ma'am,"  interrupted  Panta.  "  Let  me  tell  you,"  he 
continued,  the  glorious  secret  trembling  on  his  lips. 
What  if  he  should  inform  her  that  she  had  the  honour 
of  entertaining  the  immortal  Harlequin,  that  spoiled 
darling  of  gods  and  men,  that  incarnate  spirit  of  youth, 
of  folly,  of  laughter,  and  of  tears?  In  a  particoloured 
rush  of  vagrant  memories,  he  stood  once  more  in  the  im- 


312  THE  IMMORTAL  GYMNASTS 

provised  wings  of  who  can  say  what  Italian  stage, 
jostled  by  men  in  satin  coats,  with  orders  or  diamond 
stars  on  their  laced  and  befrilled  breasts,  with  powdered 
perruques  or  with  their  own  hair  brushed  back  and  tied 
in  a  black  ribbon,  as  young  Herr  Wolfgang  v.  Goethe 
was  used  to  wear  his.  They  surrounded  him,  these 
merry  personages,  as  he  waited  his  turn,  laughing,  jest- 
ing, watching  their  darling  Columbine  as,  after  that 
last,  inimitable,  birdlike  rush  of  hers — alas,  a  fair, 
wounded  bird,  trailing  a  broken  wing — she  is  caught  up 
triumphantly  in  the  strong  arms  of  the  enamoured  Har- 
lequin and  borne  off  amid  a  shower  of  roses.  The  very 
smell  of  the  dust  assaulted  his  nostrils,  beaten  out  of 
the  old  wooden  parquet.  He  felt  once  more  the  silken 
elbows  in  his  ribs.  The  gibes  at  poor  old  deceived 
Pantaloon  rang  once  more  in  his  ears.  Where  was  he? 
What  was  he? 

"You  were  saying,  Mr.  Panta — ?"  broke  in  Gita's 
cool,  sweet  voice,  seeming  to  come  to  him  through  space, 
across  all  the  dry,  burning,  summer  plain  of  Lombardy. 
He  looked  around  him,  on  the  fair  tranquil  English 
garden,  on  the  quiet  woman  at  his  side.  He  caught 
Bina's  soft,  gurgling  laugh  ;  heard  Varian's  deeper  note 
as  he  replied.  Good  heavens !  he  had  quite  lost  himself 
this  time.     He  really  must  be  more  careful. 

"  I  was  about  to  say,"  he  recommenced,  "  that  Quin 
has  taught  Bina  all  she  knows  of  dancing.  He  is  quite 
extraordinary,  they  tell  me.  He  trains  young  ones  for 
the  opera — an  exacting  business." 

"  Oh,  do  you  think — ?  "  began  Bee  breathlessly. 
And  then  stopped. 

Gita  smiled.     "You  see  before  you,  Mr.  Panta,  our 


THE  IMMORTAL  GYMNASTS  313 

sylvan  stage.  Do  you  think  your  young  people  might 
be  tempted  by  that  excellent  green  turf?  Upon  what 
a  pleasure  it  would  be  for  us,  I  need  not  insist.  My 
niece  can  produce  a  little  accompaniment  for  them,  if 
they  wish  it,  after  she  has  sung  to  us.  Do  you  happen 
to  know  any  of  good  Doctor  Campion's  Masques?  Anie 
ran  across  his  quaint  '  Booke  of  Aires  '  in  the  library, 
and  will  restrum  something  of  his  for  us  to-night.  We 
must  imagine  her  guitar  to  be  a  lute,  and  may  tickle 
ourselves  with  the  thought,  if  we  please,  that  Will 
Shakespeare  may  have  hummed  any  one  of  these  songs 
to  himself,  as  he  walked  about  that  fine  new  house  of 
his  at  Stratford,  a  little  bored  and  strange,  perhaps, 
so  far  from  London  and  his  mates.  But  if  Mr.  Quin 
and  Miss  Panta  consent  to  dance,  we  shall  have  a  fete 
indeed.'' 

"  Who  is  to  dance,  mother — your  boy  ?  "  inquired 
Varian,  coming  to  meet  them,  his  fair,  bare  head  that 
of  any  stainless  cavalier  in  the  clear,  primrose-coloured 
evening  light. 

Gita  squeezed  his  arm. 

"  We  are  to  look  for  something  exquisite,  if  our 
guests  consent,  my  dear,"  she  said,  "  not  any  of  your 
innocent  prancings." 

"What,  oh,  what?"  chirped  Anie  from  her  place 
by  the  little  table,  on  which  coffee  and  fruit  had  been 
spread. 

Gita  smiled  at  Bina  and  then  turned  her  eyes  on 
Quin,  the  supple  perfection  of  his  long,  admirably  pro- 
portioned members  being  now  explained  to  her. 

"  Dare  I?  "  she  asked,  with  her  charming  smile,  look- 
ing from  one  to  the  other.     "  Doesn't  our  greenwood 


314  THE  IMMORTAL  GYMNASTS 

stage  tempt  you  ?  Will  you  beguile  us  with  your  beauti- 
ful art  ?  The  cat  is  out  of  the  bag.  I  know  you  dance, 
and,  to  be  perfectly  frank,  I  am  mad  to  see  you  do  it." 

Who  could  resist  Gita  when  she  chose  to  take  this 
tone?  Certainly  not  Quin,  who  was  very  much  alive 
to  her  rather  veiled,  exotic  attraction.  He  flamed  in- 
wardly as  he  turned  to  look  at  Bina.  Were  the  old 
days  to  come  back  for  one  rapturous  moment?  Were 
they  to  dance  again  together  here  in  the  moonlight,  in 
the  soft,  warm  air,  as  they  had  done  so  often  ages  ago 
under  the  stars  of  those  maddening,  perfumed,  Italian 
nights?  If  they  did,  and  she  let  him  carry  her  off  in 
his  arms  after  her  last,  desperate,  simulated  flight,  as 
of  a  bird  with  a  broken  wing,  he  swore  to  himself  that 
he'd  never  let  her  go  so  long  as  they  both  should  live. 
But  all  he  said  was,  in  quite  a  level  voice: 

"Will  you,  Bina?" 

And  she,  looking  over  her  shoulder  at  him,  provok- 
ingly  unmoved,  replied: 

"  To  be  sure.     I  think  it  would  be  great  fun." 

Gita  smiled  to  herself,  seeing  how  the  wind  set.  They 
had  both  forgotten  her  so  completely. 

Anie  and  Bee  hovered  around  Panta,  seeing  that  he 
had  a  peach  peeled  daintily  for  him,  since  he  did  not 
care  for  coffee.  This  business  being  over,  they  found 
themselves  grouped  on  the  edge  of  the  green,  hedge- 
bordered  semicircle.  The  moon  had  risen  sufficiently  high 
to  light  them  with  that  pallid  radiance  of  which  she  is 
past-mistress.  Gita  lay,  a  white,  gracious  shape  out- 
stretched on  the  couch,  with  Quin  seated  on  one  side  of 
her  and  Panta  on  the  other.  Varian  engaged  Bina  and 
Anie  in  a  whispering  dialogue,  gay  enough,  judging  by 


THE  IMMORTAL  GYMNASTS  315 

the  laughter  it  evoked.  Then  the  guitar  was  tuned  amid 
flying  volleys  of  unsolicited  advice. 

Presently  across  their  murmuring  talk  the  girl's  pure, 
soft,  liquid,  languid  note  uprose,  floating  like  a  silver 
thread  through  moonlight  and  dew,  carrying  to  their 
ears  the  quaint  words  of  Campion's  song,  set  to  a  charm- 
ing, unfamiliar  measure.  She  was  a  pretty  sight,  her 
little  head  that  bore  its  crown  of  rippling  hair  as  easily 
as  a  flower  bent  over  her  guitar,  the  white  fingers  pick- 
ing at  the  strings,  the  music  swelling  in  that  warm, 
round  throat.  Varian,  his  hands  clasped  around  his 
knees,  couldn't  take  his  eyes  off  her.  Quin  was  in  no 
better  case.  So  she  sang  it  through,  ending  on  the 
proper  pitch  of  wounded  pride: 

Then  let  my  notes  pursue  her  scornful  -flight! 
It  shall  suffice  that  they  were  breathed  and  died  for  her 
delight. 

The  plaint  of  this  dawning  seventeenth-century  poet 
lover  sounded  as  poignantly  in  this  moonlit  garden  as 
it  had  three  hundred  years  ago  when  you  stopped  that 
morning  at  Philip  Rossiter's  own  house  in  Fleet  Street, 
near  to  the  Greyhound,  to  pick  up  these  sheets,  fresh 
and  fresh,  to  hurry  home  to  try  them  in  your  study, 
bending  over  your  Orpharion  as  you  sang,  brooding 
upon  the  fair  woman  who  was  exasperating  your  nerves 
at  that  moment.  .   .   .  Three  hundred  years  ago ! 

Panta,  exquisitely  sensitive  to  such  evocations,  and 
less  able  to  control  their  effect  than  Quin,  felt  as  though 
his  eyelids  were  being  too  insistently  brushed  by  the 
Wing  of  the  Past,  figured  as  a  great  spreading  dark 
bird  of  the  night. 


316  THE  IMMORTAL  GYMNASTS 

The  efforts  of  the  amateur  claque  were  quite  sub- 
merged in  a  general  acclaim.  Varian  saw  no  reason 
to  refrain  from  kissing  the  singer's  hand  not  once  but 
twice.  Bina  leaned  over  the  little  figure  to  tell  the  girl 
how  she  loved  her  voice. 

"  Delightful,  darling,"  murmured  Gita,  immensely 
pleased. 

Panta  and  Bee  agreed  that  you  heard  nothing  half 
so  taking  at  the  opera  (neither  of  them  ever  went),  and 
Quin  said  something  quite  too  technical  for  me  to  re- 
peat, as  one  musician  speaking  to  another,  and  was 
very  pleasantly  complimentary  in  regard  to  the  way 
she  handled  her  voice  and  picked  at  her  strings.  Al- 
together it  was  a  most  agreeable  success  for  our  young 
lady,  and  a  happy  picture  and  text  for  those  who  saw 
and  heard  her  to  store  away  for  the  contemplation  of 
their  inward  eye  and  ear  when  those  exacting  organs 
should  demand  fair  flesh  and  airy  concords. 

"  Don't  fancy  you  are  going  to  stop,  you  know,  my 
child,"  began  Varian,  as  Anie  laid  her  guitar  on  the 
table,  pushing  aside  the  coffee  cups  and  inciting  the 
little  silver  spoons  to  emulous  fairy  tinklings. 

"  She  privately  confided  to  me,"  he  went  on,  turning 
to  the  others,  "  that,  if  properly  pressed,  she  had  an- 
other song  up  her  sleeve.  Hence,  it  is  my  manifest 
duty  to — press."  He  rose  with  determination  in  his 
eye. 

"  Must  I,  Gita  ?  "  cried  Anie,  laughing  and  draw- 
ing back  behind  Bina,  who  put  her  arm  around  her. 

"  Romney  would  have  made  something  of  that,"  re- 
marked Gita  to  Quin,  pointing  the  sticks  of  her  fan 
at  the  enlaced  figures  of  the  two  girls,  washed  in  moon- 


THE  IMMORTAL  GYMNASTS  317 

light,  in  their  misty,  white,  scant  frocks,  their  brown, 
luxurious  hair,  their  soft,  engaging  curves  of  youth,  of 
grace,  of  beauty. 

Every  nerve  in  him  leaping  to  acquiescence  so  far  as 
Bina  was  concerned,  Quin  was  heard  to  reply,  dryly 
enough,  that  undoubtedly  Romney  would.  Then  they 
reseated  themselves,  and  prepared  to  be  ravished  anew. 

So  followed  the  evocation  of  Campion's  Laura,  that 
fair,  rose-cheeked  one,  in  this  faintly  rustling,  per- 
fumed night  garden,  accomplished  by  Anie's  simple  art. 
To  her  low,  broken  accompaniment,  to  her  call  to 

Rose-cheeked  Laura,  come, 

that  delicate  seventeenth-century  phantom  seemed  to 
float  across  the  greenwood  stage: 

Rose-cheeked  Laura,  come; 
Sing  thou  smoothly  with  thy  beauty's 
Silent  music,  either  other 
Sweetly  gracing, 

so  the  fanciful  lines  ran. 

" '  Thy  beauty's  silent  music,' "  repeated  Quin  to 
himself,  watching  the  white,  pure  oval  of  Bina's  face, 
the  long  lashes  shadowing  the  dreamy  eyes,  the  warm, 
tender  mouth. 

Lovely  forms  do  flow 
From  concent  divinely  framed; 
Heaven  is  music,  and  thy  beauty's 
Birth  is  heavenly. 

So  sang  Anie,  with  a  high,  clear  rush  of  crystal 
dropping  notes. 


318  THE  IMMORTAL  GYMNASTS 

Heaven  is  music,  and  thy  beauty's 
Birth  is  heavenly. 

"  How  intensely  the  Elizabethans  felt  their  life,  and 
how  divinely  they  spoke  their  love,"  thought  Gita, 
moving  her  fan  softly  to  and  fro,  brushing  its  feathers 
musingly  across  her  lips. 

When  the  pretty  performance  had  ended,  amid  a 
renewal  of  applause  and  compliments,  and  Anie  had 
come  shyly  to  seat  herself  on  the  edge  of  the  couch, 
squeezing  her  little  body  gently  against  Gita,  displac- 
ing her  silky  draperies,  the  latter,  with  her  arm  around 
the  girl,  repeated  to  the  company  at  large  the  plati- 
tude that  had  crossed  her  mind  in  regard  to  that  long- 
suffering  folk,  the  subjects  of  England's  Diana,  the 
great  Eliza. 

"  Without  speaking  of  the  sonnets — enter  that  En- 
chanted Wood  ye  who  dare !  "  said  she,  "  how  amazing 
it  appears  to  us  that  secondary  poetasters  of  the  period 
struck  out,  as  quite  a  common  thing,  certain  expres- 
sions as  fine,  as  spacious,  as  vivid,  as  new  minted,  as 
you  can  find  in  the  very  highest  himself.  Think  of 
Donne — or  rather  don't,"  she  added  in  laughing  warn- 
ing, "  for  if  you  do,  you  will  do  nothing  else — how 
passion  in  him  leaped  white-hot  into  the  words  he  used 
to  paint  it.  Some  of  those  little  poems  are  like  medals 
of  the  great  age,  so  finely  cut,  so  deeply  incised  that 
the  impression  you  receive  from  them  is  as  fresh  as 
though  the  poet  himself  had  come  to  lay  them  in  your 
lap." 

"  I  never  read  modern  poetry  either,"  put  in  Panta, 
who  had  a  perfect  frenzy  for  agreeing  slavishly  with 


THE  IMMORTAL  GYMNASTS  319 

anything  Gita  said.  "  Why  should  one,  when  what 
you  point  out  is  so  true?  The  fine  things  have  all  been 
said " 

Quin  and  Varian  protested  vehemently,  as  became 
them  in  their  different  roles  of  secret  and  proclaimed 
lovers.  To  your  true  lover  nothing  has  ever  been  said 
in  love-language  that  exactly  suits  his  case — there  is 
still  to  be  sought  the  quintessential  refinement,  the 
flaming,  starry  apex  that  shall  crown  his  particular 
thoughts  of  his  own  particular  never-before-so-beloved 
mistress. 

Gita  listened  to  their  spirited  defence  of  the  twentieth 
century's  right-to-live-poetically,  but  shook  her  head 
nevertheless,  saying  to  Panta: 

"  We  are  content  to  wait,  Mr.  Panta.  When  they 
bring  us  the  shining  golden  spurs  they  have  won  in 
open  tilt  with  our  great  dead,  why,  then  we  shall  buckle 
them  on  with  joyful  fingers,  and  give  the  accolade  with 
a  right  good  will.    But  that  time  is  not  yet." 

"  Wait  till  you  hear  my  *  To  Anie,  Singing,' "  said 
her  son  darkly,  casting  a  killing  look  at  the  young  lady 
in  question,  sitting  in  the  warm  shelter  of  his  mother's 
arm. 

"  You'll  have  Mr.  Fortescue  in  your  hair,"  remarked 
his  little  love,  "  if  you  neglect  your  proofs  for  me." 

"  Oh,  I'm  working  up  something  to  keep  him  quiet. 
I  ran  across  it  the  other  day, — a  most  curious  thing. 
It  should  be  set  to  music.  In  fact,  it  is  to  music,  but 
*  frozen,  dumb,  till  I  come,'  meaning,  of  course,  the 
musical  chap." 

"  My  dear  child,  you  rave,"  interrupted  his  mother. 
"  The  moonlight  has  done  its  worst  with  you.    What  is 


320  THE  IMMORTAL  GYMNASTS 

this  about  '  frozen  music  '?  Didn't  poor  old  Somebody- 
or-Other  apply  the  phrase  to  architecture?  " 

"  He  did,  dear  one,"  replied  her  son,  as  patient  as 
a  headmaster  with  an  incredibly  dull  child,  "  but  that 
isn't  what  I  mean.  It  seems  that  in  one  of  the  smaller, 
less  frequented,  less  illustrious  cathedrals  of  our  Con- 
tinental neighbours " 

"  Why  this  mystery  ?  "  murmurs  Bina. 

"  Because  if  I  told  you,  you'd  all  be  rushing  there. 
Well,  an  inquisitive  traveller,  storm-bound  in  the  little 
town,  spending  more  time  in  the  cathedral  than  he  had 
intended — in  fact,  wet  day  after  wet  day — discovered 
to  the  best  of  his  belief  that  the  curious  wood-carving 
in  the  choir-stalls — irregular,  bizarre,  fantastic,  gro- 
tesque, better  suited  in  subject,  sometimes,  for  a  cabaret 
than  a  church,  but  the  figures  are  so  tiny  many  people 
do  not  find  this  out — formed,  in  reality,  nothing  less 
than  a  series  of  musical  notes,  in  a  gigantic  scale, 
meandering  up  and  down,  all  over  the  backs  and  sides 
of  the  stalls.  Think  how  it  would  sound  if  someone, 
more  subtle  or  less  easily  baffled  than  our  traveller,  were 
to  discover  the  real  notation  and  release  the  hidden  mel- 
ody to  send  it  soaring  up  into  the  dusky  vaulting !  Our 
man,  becoming  more  absorbed  in  his  theory  as  the 
weather  grew  wetter  and  wetter,  even  conceived  this 
dumb  music  to  re-echo  in  the  arrangement  of  the  carved 
figures  of  the  capitals,  escaping  like  a  whiff  of  incense 
through  the  north  portal,  to  be  carried  up  by  the  flying 
buttresses,  to  float  out  into  the  frosty  air,  being 
spewed  at  length,  violently,  in  some  shattering  discord, 
from  the  open,  ferocious,  carnivorous,  stone  mouths  of 
the  gargoyles.     But  it  always  escaped  him.     He  never 


THE  IMMORTAL  GYMNASTS  321 

got  it  down  on  his  sheets  of  accurately-ruled  paper.  He 
has  merely  given  us  the  tip.  We  must  go  and  hear  it 
with  our  spiritual  ear." 

"  If  the  little  figures  are  so  horrid,"  remarked  Anie, 
"  perhaps  the  music  would  not  be  very  nice." 

They  all  laughed. 

"  There  is  a  most  curious  idea  in  that  story,"  said 
Quin.  "  Did  someone  actually  throw  out  the  notion, 
or  did  you  make  up  both  your  traveller  and  your  cathe- 
dral gently  to  pull  our  leg?  " 

Varian  protested  his  good  faith.  "  I  have  used  poetic 
license,  perhaps,  to  furnish  forth  the  tale.  Pass  the 
inquisitive  traveller,  but  the  thing  has  really  been  said 
about  the  choir-stalls  at  Amiens.  Do  you  remember 
them?" 

u  Not  well.  England  has  swallowed  us  up.  When 
you  go  there  again,  and  should  Miss  Cassock  be  of  the 
party,  she  must  take  her  guitar,  and  in  some  dim 
corner  when  the  Sacristan  isn't  looking  she  must  bend 
her  ear  to  the  strings  to  hear,  perhaps,  that  imprisoned 
melody  thrilling  along  them  into  life  again." 

"  What  a  charming  idea,  Quin,"  broke  out  Bina. 
She  had  not  spoken  to  him  since  her  agreement  to 
dance,  but  her  eyes  had  nevertheless  been  full  of  him, 
her  hand  eager  to  slip  into  his,  her  ear  to  hear  those 
powerful  heart-beats  pounding  so  tumultuously  beneath 
her  flushed  cheek,  laid  for  an  instant  on  his  breast  in  a 
movement  of  the  dance. 

The  moon  floated  clear  of  any  cloud  in  the  mild 
night  sky;  the  soft  turf  seemed  like  a  cool,  smooth 
carpet;  the  tall,  motionless  tops  of  the  planes  spread 
themselves  into  a  rifted  canopy  through  which  a  star 


THE  IMMORTAL  GYMNASTS 


or  two  faintly  shone ;  the  branched  hollyhocks,  so  crim- 
son and  rosy  in  the  sunlight,  had  grown  of  a  uniform, 
opaque  pallor;  the  clipped  circle  of  the  Bois  through 
which  the  sun  was  wont  to  fall  in  dappled  blotches,  now 
presented  a  close,  unbroken  expanse  of  shade,  like  some 
stretched,  velvet  curtain  of  the  dark.  In  this  garden 
silence,  beneath  which  ever  runs  a  murmurous  whisper  of 
minute  life,  who  amongst  them  but  did  not  lose  himself 
in  half-formulated  dreams,  his  senses  played  upon  so 
exquisitely  by  chosen  instruments  that  stimulation  was 
never  pressed  beyond  the  stage  of  delicious  languor? 
No  one  spoke,  each  being  willing  to  lend  himself  to  the 
benign  influence  of  this  natural  magic  that  whispered 
in  your  ear  that  you  were  as  a  god,  and  had  merely 
to  stretch  out  your  hand  for  all  that  was  fair  and 
lovely  in  life  and  living.  London  with  its  roaring 
reality  lay  farther  off  at  this  moment  than  most  dis- 
tant Ind. 

"  Do  you  recollect,  Quin,"  said  Panta  at  length 
slowly,  as  though  picking  his  way  with  care  amid  a 
confusing  multiplicity  of  ancient  associations,  each  one 
beginning  to  stir  in  its  cold,  dusty  mantle,  endeavour- 
ing to  send  again  some  faint,  forlorn  message  to  the 
outside  world  still  vibrating  with  light  and  heat,  "  that 
villa  near  Lucca  where  the  Count  used  to  give  theatricals 
in  front  of  his  garden-house?  Does  not  this  turf 
stage  remind  you  of  the  place,  only  there  a  pointed 
cypress  like  a  pencil  stood  guard  in  place  of  these 
hollyhocks  ?  " 

"  Oh,  yes,  I  remember  perfectly,"  replied  Quin,  get- 
ting on  his  feet.  "  It  was  early  spring  and  the  night- 
ingales  were   splitting  their  little  brown  bodies   with 


THE  IMMORTAL  GYMNASTS  323 

song.  We  danced,  do  you  remember?  I  was  Harlequin 
to  Bina's  Columbine.  Shall  we  try  it  again  now?  Here 
is  the  garden,  the  moonlight,  the  soft  grass,  and  an 
audience  of  indulgent  friends.  They  must  do  their  best 
to  imagine  our  costumes.  The  Count,  Italians  being 
passionate  amateurs  of  the  old  Commedia  dell'  Arte, 
pranked  us  forth  from  his  garderobe" 

There  was  a  rustle  of  pleasant  anticipation.  Gita 
thanked  Quin  with  one  of  her  expressive  smiles,  accom- 
panied by  a  shifting  of  her  slight  body,  so  that  she 
could  rake  the  Bois  from  side  to  side.  Bee  and  Panta 
took  their  places  nearer  the  couch,  fearful  of  missing 
the  least  movement,  and  Varian  enticed  Anie  away 
from  his  mother  to  seat  her  in  a  deep  basket  chair 
while  he  coiled  himself  at  her  feet,  his  head  touching 
her  knees. 


CHAPTER  TWENTY-TWO 

BINA  rose,  quite  serious  now,  for  she  loved  her 
beautiful  art.  Although  she  and  Quin  had  not 
danced  together  since  they  had  started  their 
strange,  new,  bourgeois  life  in  London,  every  nerve  and 
muscle  told  her  that  she  had  not  lost  her  old-time 
power.  She  trembled  slightly  like  a  spirited  colt, 
stretching  her  arms  above  her  head  in  a  charmingly 
unpremeditated  gesture — that  of  a  rosy  child  trying  to 
wake  itself  up.  Her  little  thin  white  frock  had  rows 
of  buttons  cunningly  arranged  at  each  side  above  the 
ankle.  To  loosen  these  was  the  work  of  an  instant's 
stooping,  and  the  pretty  legs  in  their  white  silk  stock- 
ings thus  gained  the  desired  freedom  of  movement.  Her 
narrow,  low-heeled,  black-strapped  slippers,  made  on 
the  model  of  those  in  which  she  had  ever  been  accus- 
tomed to  dance,  now  served  her  turn  admirably. 

There  was  Quin  beside  her,  slender  and  easy  and 
proud  and  fine,  holding  out  his  hand.  She  took  it, 
almost  in  a  dream,  seeing  nothing  but  his  face,  feeling 
nothing  but  his  touch,  conscious  of  him,  and  of  no  one 
else  in  all  the  world,  from  her  head  to  her  feet.  In 
that  moment,  by  virtue  of  the  cloud-current  that  he 
could  still  control,  though  the  power  to  do  so  was 
slipping  from  him  faster  and  faster  as  his  love  for  the 
fair  woman  at  his  side  increased  in  Cubical  ratio,  Quin 
was  able  to  communicate  to  Bina  the  electric  impetus 
that  had  animated  his  life  as  Harlequin,  hers  as 
Columbine,  but  that  she,  as  more  impressionable,  had 


THE  IMMORTAL  GYMNASTS  325 

well-nigh  lost  under  the  disintegrating  yet  humanizing 
influences  of  the  little  shop  in  Countess  Street. 

As  they  stepped  in  front  of  the  close,  dark  screen  of 
leaves,  hand  in  hand,  they  had  both  ceased  to  be  aware 
of  their  surroundings.  For  them,  Wimbledon  and  their 
hosts  were  melted  into  a  pale,  misty  sea.  They  were 
back  again  on  Italian  soil,  their  beloved  home  of  light 
and  life,  of  art  and  beauty.  No  cold  Age  of  Machinery 
had  yet  clipped  the  sparkling  butterfly  wings,  no  French 
Revolution  had  yet  shorn  the  gay  butterfly  heads  by 
that  simple  device  of  a  triangle  of  steel  in  two  uprights 
of  wood.  The  eighteenth  century,  radiant,  irrespon- 
sible, incredibly  seductive,  dying,  yet  with  the  fresh 
airs  of  unpainted  youth,  still  breathed  its  familiar  fas- 
cination as  Harlequin  and  Columbine,  those  two  darlings 
of  her  old  age,  became  incarnate  once  more  on  a  night 
of  English  moonshine. 

Quickly  stepping  aside  into  the  shadow,  Quin  left 
Bina  in  the  centre  of  the  green  semicircle,  until  his 
moment  should  come  to  join  her. 

She  was  in  her  part  now,  head  raised,  lips  smiling, 
ear  attuned  to  some  delicate  under-harmony  heard  by 
her  alone,  played  by  the  capricious  swinging  of  the 
flower  bells,  by  the  measured  rustle  of  the  leaves,  by 
the  tide  in  the  wash  of  moonlight,  rising  higher  and 
higher  in  a  liquid,  mellow  flood.  Who  shall  say  what 
innocent  hypnotism  came  into  play,  but  the  fact  is, 
that  as  she  rose  tiptoe  on  her  little  black  slippers,  as 
gently  as  a  curl  of  foam  upon  the  arching  crest  of  a 
wave,  as  she  trembled  there,  white  arms  outspread, 
brown  head  bent  and  pensive,  her  modern  frock  seemed 
to  waver  and  lose  its  typical  outline,  seemed  to  melt, 


326  THE  IMMORTAL  GYMNASTS 

to  coalesce,  to  expand  into  the  gauzy,  frosted-silver, 
diamond-powdered  ballet-skirts  of  Columbine. 

How  she  bent  and  swayed  on  those  beautiful,  slender 
legs,  how  the  complicated  movements  of  that  fairy 
dance  became  each  subtle  ripple  of  her  strong,  graceful, 
young  body ! 

After  those  first  airy  rushes,  as  of  some  caged  bird 
released  of  a  sudden  into  the  night  and  the  woods,  the 
fragile  figure  drooped,  as  if  weary,  dragging  one 
rounded  arm  like  a  broken  wing,  trembling  anew  on 
the  tips  of  those  marvellous  toes — looking,  watching, 
waiting,  making  moan  for  its  mate.  In  the  deep  mys- 
terious light,  deserted  Columbine,  alone,  forsaken,  bend- 
ing, swaying,  quivering,  arching  that  long,  supple 
throat,  shudders  from  one  fantastic,  swoonlike  pose 
to  another  until  she  lies  relaxed  upon  the  ground,  her 
draperies,  the  petals  of  some  huge,  soft,  night  flower 
fallen  in  the  moonlight,  her  body  its  slender  broken 
stem.  Never  was  such  delicate  art  married  to  such 
poetic  beauty. 

The  circle  of  enchanted  watchers  held  their  breath. 

As  she  crouched  there,  bruised,  pathetic,  a  new  motif 
stole  upon  your  senses — vigorous,  masculine,  breathing 
of  the  heart  of  the  wild  wood,  of  the  salt,  strong  breath 
of  the  sea.  With  no  warning  rustle,  with  no  pre- 
monitory snapping  of  the  screening  twigs,  the  leafy 
curtain  seemed  to  open  to  the  proper  touch  of  a  god, 
and,  with  one  magnificent  bound,  as  of  some  lithe,  parti- 
coloured panther,  Harlequin  launched  his  beautiful  body, 
fine  as  tempered  steel,  straight  across  the  sylvan  stage, 
to  alight  as  soundlessly  as  a  drifting  leaf  beside  the 
fair,  swanlike  shape  that  was  Columbine,  every  admir- 


THE  IMMORTAL  GYMNASTS  327 

able  line  of  his  person  disclosed  in  his  close,  glittering, 
diamond-barred  disguise. 

Ah,  what  a  meeting  was  that!  With  what  art  and 
grace  the  figures  melted,  only  to  spring  apart,  floating, 
concealing,  discovering  themselves  in  the  woven  mazes 
of  the  intricate  dance.  Then  the  love-chase  began,  the 
airy,  sparkling  form  of  Columbine,  retreating,  re- 
turning, tempting,  mocking;  Harlequin  pursuing, 
baffled,  frustrated,  maddened,  the  black  velvet  mask 
hiding  alike  his  sorrow,  his  pleading,  and  his  fury. 
With  what  superb  vigour,  with  what  exact  technique 
did  the  two  protagonists  work  out  their  complicated 
measures  I 

Their  audience,  fascinated  into  immobility,  hung 
upon  their  every  movement.  There  was  not  a  sound 
save  the  night-song  of  the  garden,  that  low,  babbling, 
monotonous  undertone,  or  perhaps  the  soft  padding  of 
the  dancers'  feet,  the  impact  of  hand  to  hand,  of  arm 
to  waist  or  shoulder. 

But  the  end  is  drawing  near,  with  Columbine  on  the 
verge  of  that  final  surrender  she  alone  knows  how  to 
make  so  shudderingly  sweet.  The  delicate  arms  relax, 
the  head  hangs  with  its  starry  crown,  the  little  feet  can 
no  longer  sustain  those  airy,  tantalizing  flights;  the 
bird  is  hovering  over  the  snare.  And  Harlequin  ?  How 
the  fire  of  his  approaching  triumph  leaps  within  him, 
feeding  the  vigour  of  those  dizzying  bounds,  intensify- 
ing the  grace  of  each  onrush  by  which  he  seeks  to 
capture  and  to  hold  his  elusive  love ! 

One  more  feverish  burst  of  energy,  and  for  the  last 
time  Columbine  escapes  his  hungry  arms,  dipping  under 
them,  slipping  through  his  fingers  as  lithe  as  quick- 


328  THE  IMMORTAL  GYMNASTS 

silver,  laughing  as  she  twinkles,  swaying,  bending, 
recovering,  relapsing,  on  those  fair,  arched  feet  that 
are  like  fire  flashes. 

He  stands,  his  breast  heaving,  every  muscle  magnifi- 
cently tense,  waiting  for  his  final  moment. 

It  comes. 

"  Good  Lord,  how  fine ! "  mutters  Varian  to  himself. 

She  wavers,  quivering,  languishing,  falling  into  the 
swoonlike  poses  of  the  dying  swan  that  beats  its  silver 
wings,  fainter  and  more  faint.  Slowly,  lower  and  lower 
sinks  the  lovely  body,  the  knees  are  unstrung,  the  head 
droops  on  the  white  breast,  a  shudder  passes  down  the 
beautiful  slender  back;  she  looks  up  at  him;  she  is  at 
his  feet;  she  is  his. 

Ah,  what  a  rush  of  the  night  wind  in  the  pines,  what 
a  singing  together  of  the  stars  in  their  courses !  With 
a  leap  he  is  upon  her.  With  an  exultant  mustering  of 
every  force  in  that  so  finely-modelled  frame,  he  lifts 
her  in  his  arms,  holding  her  at  their  utmost  stretch  like 
a  white  banner  to  shake  in  the  face  of  gods  and  men.> 
She  hangs  in  his  grasp,  limp  as  a  broken  wand,  pale, 
transparent,  immeasurably  touching.  Carrying  her  so, 
this  white  rose  of  his,  he  disappears  once  more  into 
the  shadows.  The  dance  of  Harlequin  and  Columbine 
is  over. 

That  silence  that  is  the  truest  homage  to  the  beauti- 
ful in  art  or  in  life  was  not  broken  until  Quin  and  Bina, 
hand  in  hand  as  before,  moved  once  more  across  the 
semicircle  of  turf.  You  rubbed  your  eyes ;  what  had 
happened?  Gone  the  sparkling  dress  of  Columbine, 
the  diamond-barred  tights  of  Harlequin.  Quin  and 
Bina,  flushed,  rather  breathless,  radiantly  happy,  are 


THE  IMMORTAL  GYMNASTS  329 

dressed  as  befittingly  for  a  London  street  as  they  had 
been  before  their  amazing  performance. 

Gita,  even  Gita,  the  languid,  the  self-contained,  drew 
a  long-sighing  breath ;  Anie  was  white  as  her  frock ; 
Varian,  more  like  his  Van  Dyck  prototype  than  ever, 
with  tossed  hair,  a  slight  flush,  and  dilated  pupils,  was 
moved  to  the  very  depths  of  the  hedonist  that  was  in 
him;  Bee  had  had  all  her  little  conventional  notions 
knocked  about  her  ears;  never  had  she  dreamed  that  a 
mere  man  could  be  so  beautiful.  Her  point  of  view 
would  have  amused  Quin  for  a  week  could  he  have  had 
an  inkling  of  it. 

But  Panta,  poor  Panta  could  have  crawled  off  in 
silence  somewhere  to  weep  those  slow,  difficult  tears  of 
old  age.  It  was  too  touchingly  beautiful  to  be  borne, 
this  recrudescence  of  the  past — still  youthful  fair,  still 
captivatingly  gallant,  fine  and  free.  Names  rang  in 
his  ears,  friends  and  comrades  with  whom  he  had  wan- 
dered Italy — all  dead,  lost,  gone,  forgotten.  Their  knell 
boomed  now  too  dolefully  across  this  moonset  garden, 
in  this  far,  foreign  land. 

Bina,  lovingly  sympathetic,  divined  how  it  was  with 
him.  Kneeling  impulsively  in  front  of  his  chair,  she 
laid  her  arms  about  his  waist,  and  asked  like  a  child : 

"Did  I  do  it  well?    Did  you  like  me?" 

It  broke  the  spell.  This  was  no  longer  the  enchant- 
ing Columbine  who  had  wrung  his  heart  with  unap- 
peasable longing,  this  was  his  own  pretty  Bina,  the 
goddess  of  the  hearth,  the  mistress  of  the  little  shop, 
the  loving  protectress  of  his  safe,  homely  days.  It  was 
a  relief  to  feel  her  so.  He  straightened  his  white  head 
and  produced  a  smile  for  her. 


330  THE  IMMORTAL  GYMNASTS 

"  You  were  very  beautiful,  very  fleet  and  graceful, 
my  dear.  Quin  has  taught  you  well,  and  I  must  say 
for  you  that  you  take  in  what  he  tells  you." 

"  Rather !  "  exclaimed  a  transfigured  Quin,  standing 
over  them.  What  a  change  in  the  dark,  quiet  face, 
what  fire  in  the  ordinarily  sombre  eye! 

Bina  would  not  look  at  him.  She  was  feeling  too 
acutely  herself  just  at  that  moment. 

Varian  at  this  point  drew  her  attention,  and  presently 
they  were  all  talking  at  once,  even  Gita,  in  a  friendly 
endeavour  to  express  their  delight  in  this  exquisite 
glimpse  of  a  difficult  art  that  had  been  so  freely  given 
them. 

"  You,  who  dance  as  you  do,  must  be  surfeited  with 
well-meant  but  not  inspired  appreciation,"  said  Gita 
to  Quin,  willing  to  show  him  by  her  look  and  her  manner 
how  genuinely  moved  she  had  been. 

But  Quin  had  no  professional  airs. 

"  Indeed,  no ;  I  am  as  greedy  of  compliments  as  a 
boy.  I  haven't  danced  as  I  have  to-night  for  ages. 
Most  of  my  energy  goes  into  teaching.  But  how  deli- 
cious is  my  Columbine!  What  man  would  she  not 
inspire  ?  " 

"  She  is  very  beautiful ;  very  good  and  beautiful," 
said  Gita  slowly.    "  You  will  be  happy  together." 

Quin  shot  a  look  at  her. 

"  You  saw,  then?  "  he  breathed. 

"  Saw  and  felt,  my  dear  man,"  laughed  Gita  in  reply. 
"  One  is  not  made  of  stone." 

"  What  a  night  to  live  through,"  he  went  on,  after 
the  silent  drop  of  a  pause,  "  here  in  your  charming 
garden,  with  this  moon,  and  this  perfume,  and  your 


THE  IMMORTAL  GYMNASTS  331 

delicate  sympathy.  A  man  in  love  may  be  pardoned 
for  losing  his  head." 

"  Say,  on  the  contrary,"  broke  in  Gita,  "  that  if  he 
doesn't,  he  isn't." 

"  Hark  to  my  mother,"  interrupted  Varian,  who  had 
been  telling  Bina,  with  all  the  resources  of  his  vocabu- 
lary, what  a  lovely  Undine  she  would  make.  "  I  never 
realized  till  I  overheard  this  last  speech  of  hers,  the 
immense  subtlety  and  enormous  range  of  our  wonderful 
English  tongue — '  if  he  doesn't,  he  isn't ' — by  Jove, 
positively  cryptic,  and  yet  you  could  scarcely  put  it 
(whatever  it  is!)  more  simply,  and  speak." 

"  Impertinent  one !  "  cried  Anie.  "  Hereafter  you 
shall  use  nothing  but  Mammamouchi." 

"  If  you  use  it  with  me,  I  shall  not  revolt." 

Before  that  look  and  that  touch  of  the  hand,  Anie 
was  happily  dumb. 

But  Varian  rattled  on. 

"  Now  that  we  have  said  everything  we  possibly  can 
think  of  to  express  to  these  wonderful  people  what 
pure,  unalloyed  joy  they  have  given  us,  let  me  ask  you 
this  simple  question,  mother,  here,  before  us  all:  Did 
you  in  your  whole  life  ever  hope  to  see  such  dancing? 
Dancing  of  this  genre,  you  understand,  my  dear  people, 
is  a  godlike  exercise;  no  mere  mortal  could  possibly 
do  it.  And  now,  again,  since  we,  like — who  the  deuce 
were  they? — Philemon  and  Baucis,  are  the  entertainers 
of  divinities,  first  of  all,  let  us  do  the  proper  thing,  to 
wit :  bring  out  the  mixing-bowl  and  the  wine  cup  and — 
have  a  jolly  good,  long  drink!" 

They  laughed,  and  thereby  dropped  down  several  de- 
grees to  a  more  normal  plane.     Emotion  such  as  they 


33%  THE  IMMORTAL  GYMNASTS 

had  all  been  experiencing,  according  to  their  various 
capacities,  is  apt  to  give  too  abrupt  a  turn  to  the  screw. 
Also,  since  it  is  as  well  to  ease  off  the  reaction  by  a 
counter-irritant,  Varian's  jolly  long  drink  provides  one 
of  the  simplest  and  most  pleasing.  The  boy  was  no 
mean  psychologist. 

So  they  bestirred  themselves,  leaving  to  the  moonlight 
and  the  wandering  breeze,  to  the  insects  and  the  small 
creatures  of  the  night,  the  deserted  stage,  that  turf 
semicircle  that  seemed  to  Quin's  bedazzled  eyes  still 
to  guard  the  fragrant,  intoxicating  souvenir  of  a  white, 
melting  shape  of  love  and  beauty. 

They  straggled  in  an  uneven  procession  across  the 
lower  terrace,  skirting  the  lime  tunnel,  now  inky  black, 
treading  the  narrow  paths,  a  pale,  chalkish  white  in 
the  moonlight,  pulling  a  flower  here  and  there,  a  droop- 
ing rose,  pallid  and  ghostly,  too  fair  to  be  resisted. 
Gita  presently  had  her  free  hand  full ;  with  the  other  she 
leaned  gently  on  old  Mr.  Panta,  who  seemed  to  like 
the  delicate  attention.  Such  graceful  dependence  in  a 
pretty  woman  was  eminently  fitting.  Bee  was  on  his 
other  side.  That,  also,  was  as  it  should  be,  for  it  left 
Bina  to  Quin  and  Anie  to  Varian,  a  disposition  of  per- 
sons that  certain  tumultuous  heart-beats  imperiously 
demanded,  and  that  the  will  of  man  manoeuvred  to 
secure. 

They  sipped  their  amber  wine  that  bubbled  in  tall, 
fragile  glasses,  as  they  sat  once  more  in  the  shadow  of 
the  Poussin.  No  one  minded  long,  intimate  pauses,  for 
the  sentimental  agitation  in  which  more  than  one  of 
them  found  himself  disposed  to  silence — coloured 
enough,  hot  enough,   imageful   enough,   but   internal, 


THE  IMMORTAL  GYMNASTS  333 

subterranean.  Quin  was  dreaming  of  the  dark,  cool, 
smoky  back  room  in  which  Panta,  poor  tired  Panta 
having  gone  upstairs,  he  was  so  soon  to  hold  out  impa- 
tient, so-long-defrauded,  so-long-empty,  eager,  grasp- 
ing arms  to  a  Bina,  miraculously  softened,  who  would 
come  at  last  into  them,  their  willing  prisoner,  demand- 
ing nothing  better  than  such  incarceration.  Heavens! 
how  life  had  it  in  it  to  pay,  to  pay  you  gloriously, 
the  measure  heaped  up,  dripping,  oozing  gold  and 
myrrh,  to  pay  you  for  all  the  darkness,  the  agony,  the 
deferred  longing,  the  infinite  ennui!  Quin  had  no 
quarrel  with  Universal  Law  to-night.  Instead,  he 
hugged  its  majestic  symbols  to  himself,  as  though  they 
were  indeed  the  dark  head  and  soft  breast  of  his  so- 
coveted  Columbine.  So  he  dreamed;  a  pleasing  study 
in  Gita's  quizzical  eye,  for  she  was  always  tender  to  love 
when  it  broke  out  its  own  true  colours  to  the  breeze, 
and  the  flapping  of  the  silken  banner  was  distinctly 
audible  in  Quin's  vicinity.  Bina  heard  it,  too,  and  her 
heart  grew  big  within  her.  She  could  hold  off  no 
longer.  The  dying  swan  had  shown  her  plainly  where 
she  stood.  She,  also,  thought  of  the  quiet  back  room, 
so  soon  to  become  a  sanctuary,  a  temple,  a  home.  Al- 
together, it  was  a  most  successful  evening,  although 
the  principal  guests  were  thus  reduced  to  quivering, 
eloquent  silence. 

Varian  insisted  upon  taking  them  up  himself  in  the 
car,  for  the  rush  through  the  night  air,  his  hand  on 
the  throat  of  the  powerful  metal  beast  who  bore  them, 
appealed  to  his  heated  fancy.  The  moon,  the  shadowy 
garden,  the  exquisite  interlude  of  the  dance,  the  antique 
songs  sobbing  out  of  his  Anie's  warm  young  throat, 


334  THE  IMMORTAL  GYMNASTS 

had  all  moved  him  mightily,  and  he  knew  he  would  not 
sleep  did  he  not  work  off  a  certain  amount  of  boyish 
excitement.  So  it  was  arranged  that  Varian  was  to 
drop  his  guests  in  Countess  Street,  returning  himself  at 
once  to  Wimbledon. 

They  made  their  adieux,  not  wearily,  perfunctorily, 
as  we  so  often  do,  standing  on  one  foot  from  very 
boredom,  but  with  a  close,  warm  pressure  of  friendly 
hands,  indicative  of  sympathy,  of  strong  liking,  of  ex- 
changed pledges  of  future  comradeship.  Gita  kissed 
Bina,  holding  the  girl  for  a  moment  in  her  gentle  clasp. 
She  knew  how  Quin's  eye  was  kindling,  although  she 
did  not  look.  Panta  and  Bee  had  struck  out  sparks  of 
common  interest,  and  one  could  see  that  the  whole 
Wimbledon  household  would  presently  consider  the  little 
shop  in  Countess  Street  an  indispensable  house-of-call 
whenever  care  or  pleasure  should  draw  them  London- 
ward. 

Gliding  back  slowly,  almost  noiselessly,  alone  in  the 
deep,  perfumed  heart  of  the  night,  Varian  was  con- 
scious of  nothing  in  the  whole  pale,  dim  expanse  of  the 
house  save  those  white  roses  hanging,  heavy  and  sweet, 
around  Anie's  windows. 

Quiet  scenes  of  victorious  love  were  being  enacted 
when  the  early  autumnal  dark  closed  in  on  the  snug, 
brown  room  in  Countess  Street.  Here  the  threads  of 
life  had  been  spinning  a  deeper,  richer  background  for 
this  new  flamy  pattern  than  anything  the  combined  ex- 
perience of  Ambry  and  Estelle,  of  Varian  and  Anie, 
could  present.  Here  the  cloud-capped  years  sank  away 
in  a  full  deposit  of  tears  and  laughter,  of  hope,  of  trust, 
of  unquenchable  loyalty,  and  from  this   teeming  soil 


THE  IMMORTAL  GYMNASTS  335 

what  fair  crop  might  not  be  looked  for,  Cubical  though 
it  be? 

So  thought  Quin,  with  rapturous  anticipation,  as  he 
let  himself  in  each  afternoon,  returning  earlier  and 
earlier  from  his  hurried  lessons,  drawn  as  irresistibly 
as  by  a  magnet.  He  mentally  cursed  the  inoffensive 
stray  customer  whom  he  sometimes  ran  over  in  the  shop, 
scarcely  daring  to  look  at  Bina  as  he  passed.  With 
what  a  deep,  burning,  heart-fed1  glow  would  his  eyes 
meet  hers  an  instant  later,  as  she  slipped  through  the 
door  with  the  minute  glass  pane,  pushing  it  to  behind 
her,  enclosing  them  thus,  for  their  first  inarticulate 
meeting,  within  the  precincts  of  this  warm,  dim,  brown, 
smoky  shrine,  the  shrine  where  so  many  tranquil  hours 
had  sped  by,  lapping!  them  in  a  delicious,  drowsy 
content. 

The  drawn  curtains,  disclosing  the  stately  stalk  of 
coloured  birds  across  their  buff  expanse,  hid  the  trail 
of  early  fog,  or  the  slanting  rush  of  sleety  rain,  the 
October  evening  hemming  them  in,  happy  mariners, 
marooned  on  some  warm,  glowing,  sunset  isle,  conceal- 
ing hidden  caves  of  Aladdin. 

Panta  would  creep  down  presently,  if  it  were  tea- 
hour  or  supper-hour,  some  wise,  ancient  book  under 
his  arm,  to  sink  into  his  habitual  yawning  chair,  to 
toast  his  slippered  feet  at  the  cheerful  blaze,  to  regard 
with  tired,  happy,  benignant  eyes  the  two  beings  who 
were  all  his  world. 

The  outward  aspect  of  things  was  unchanged.  Quin 
smoked  his  pipe  at  the  fireside  as  of  old ;  Bina,  at  her 
little  table  with  the  lamp,  bent  her  brown  head  over  her 
web  of  knitting,  or  made  up  her  housewifely  accounts, 


336  THE  IMMORTAL  GYMNASTS 

but,  inwardly,  what  a  deep,  rushing  tumult  in  two  hearts 
as  of  a  newly-released  spring  torrent,  the  ice-glen  at 
the  source  broken,  melted,  the  waters  leaping  down  the 
mountainside  under  the  hot  sun,  flecked  and  gleaming 
with  a  thousand  rainbow-dazzling  spears  t  If  you  were 
a  sensitive  like  Panta,  you  would  have  felt  the  glow  the 
moment  you  entered  the  room;  you  would  have  heard 
the  song  the  water  drops  sang  as  they  fell,  one  spar- 
kling bead  after  another,  wearing  away  in  these  two 
lovers  the  last  cloudy  deposits  of  individualism,  of 
egotism,  of  pride. 

Of  course,  they  had  furiously  discussed  the  question 
of  keeping  on  the  shop,  Quin,  in  his  fire-new  role  of 
prospective  husband — irresponsible  Harlequin,  "  where 
the  bee  sucks,  there  suck  I,"  gone  for  ever — having 
become  intensely  bourgeois,  revolted  at  the  idea  of  his 
very  own — well,  we  must  make  up  our  mind  to  come  out 
with  the  sacred  word — of  his  very  own  wife,  presenting 
her  ineffable  person  in  the  guise  of  a  pretty  little  woman 
who  sold  milk  and  cream,  butter  and  eggs,  and  who 
served  you  herself,  observe,  as  gay  and  as  fresh  as  the 
dawn.  What  Harlequin  had  thought  a  pleasing  mas- 
querade, Mr.  Quin  was  beginning  to  envisage  as  a 
sacrilege.  Also,  spurred  on  by  his  new  responsibilities, 
he  had  brought  the  fat  Heff endorf er  to  excellent  terms ; 
his  private  lessons  were  increasing,  and  thus,  keeping  his 
toes  to  the  grindstone,  enough  golden  guineas  would 
roll  in  to  pay  for  roof  and  food,  warmth,  shelter,  a  little 
maid,  and  roses,  roses  all  the  way. 

But  obstinate  Bina  made  absurd  objections.  He, 
the  light  of  her  eyes,  the  lodestone  of  her  life  (teasing 
baggage !),  would  be  away  till  teatime  every  day.     Then, 


THE  IMMORTAL  GYMNASTS  337 

what,  pray,  was  to  amuse  her?  Panta  would  be  off  on 
the  trail  of  another  "  Immortal  Gymnast,"  or  stalking 
shy  birds  of  that  feather  in  Shaftesbury  Avenue,  so  why 
should  she  not  keep  on  the  little  shop  in  which  they 
all  took  a  sneaking  pride?  In  fact — clinching  argu- 
ment ! — who  would  attend  to  the  Wimbledon  milk  if  she 
didn't? 

Quin,  unconvinced,  but  in  his  present  weakened  state 
constitutionally  incapable  of  denying  her  anything, 
did  what  he  knew  and  what  she  knew  he'd  do  from  the 
beginning — gave  in.  This  proof  of  her  supremacy  in 
domestic  councils  having  been  accorded  her,  Bina  fol- 
lowed what  her  warm  young  heart  bade  her  do,  and 
signed  the  death-warrant  of  the  shop  on  the  spot  by 
remarking,  negligently,  that  they  might  as  well  be 
keeping  an  eye  open  for  a  cottage  in  the  country. 
Panta  then  might  realize  the  dream  of  a  lifetime 
by  studying  the  strange  bee-people,  and  she  could 
potter  about  a  little  dairy  and  garden  of  her  very 
own. 

To  hear  her  thus  body  forth  the  fair  substance  of 
certain  secret,  airy  constructions  of  his  own,  reconciled 
Quin  to  a  few  intermediate  months  of  the  old  life. 

With  the  oncoming  of  spring,  with  the  crocus  and 
the  illusive  cuckoo,  whose  taunting  call  someone  was 
sure  to  signal  across  the  barren  meadows,  would  well 
up  the  overmastering  desire  for  the  path  by  the  hedge- 
rows, for  the  cottage  nest,  they,  as  sober  married  folk, 
must  be  preparing. 

How  the  lark-song  of  it  beat  in  his  throat  as  he 
turned  and  fixed  her,  his  Columbine!  How  their  hands 
met  and  clung,  transmitting  no  cloud-current  now  sub- 


338  THE  IMMORTAL  GYMNASTS 

tly  to  pass  from  palm  to  palm!  That  magic  circuit 
was  broken  for  ever — overborne  by  the  fuller  pulse  of 
Cubical  life  that  throbbed  in  both  of  them,  deep-toned 
as  a  cathedral  bell,  warm  as  the  still  core  of  subterranean 
fire. 


THIS  BOOK  IS  DUE  ON  THE  LAST  DATE 
STAMPED  BELOW 


AN     INITIAL    FINE      OF     25     CENTS 

WILL  BE  ASSESSED  FOR  FAILURE  TO  RETURN 
THIS  BOOK  ON  THE  DATE  DUE.  THE  PENALTY 
WILL  INCREASE  TO  50  CENTS  ON  THE  FOURTH 
DAY  AND  TO  $1.00  ON  THE  SEVENTH  DAY 
OVERDUE. 


SEP    10  1932 
MAR    8    1 


LD  21-20n»-6,'83 


343101 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 


■iHPIiHI 


